BL 


— and  kneeling  by  the  low  chair  looked  up  into  his  face.     (See 
page   29.) 


Leaves 

From  an  Argonaut's 
Note  Book 

A  Collection  of  Holiday  and  other  Stories 

illustrative  of  the  brighter  side  of 

Mining  Life  in  Pioneer 

:  :  Days  :   : 

By 
JUDGE  T.  E.  JONES 


Illustrations  by 
LAURA  ADAMS  ARMER 


Mi&itafcet  &  Kap  Company 

(INCORPORATED) 

PUBLISHERS 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

1905 


1  * 


Copyright  1905 

by 
T.  E.  Jones 


Banct oft  UbOM* 


e  D  t  c  a  1 1  o  n 


t&e  pioneer  £$met3  ot  California  and  t&cir 

and  2Dauo;6ttr0  tfits  booK,  to6ic6  t6c 

ftutijot  behctits  to  represent  tfie 

brighter  and  better  0ide  of 

mining  life  in  early  da#0, 

i$  respectfully  dedica» 

ted  by  one  tofjo 

tje  plains  in  '50" 


PREFACE 

In  presenting  this  volume  as  a  candidate  for 
public  favor,  the  Author  will  be  brief  in  his  prefa- 
tory remarks.  Coming  to  this  State  with  the  tide 
of  immigration  which  flocked  in  from  every 
quarter  in  1850,  I  made  my  home  in  the  mines 
until  after  the  century  was  ended,  in  fact  my  home 
was  in  one  mining  county  for  forty-nine  years. 
Naturally,  in  such  a  long  period  of  residence,  I 
saw  mining  life  in  all  its  various  phases. 

I  began  writing  for  the  Gulden  Era  and  other 
publications,  stories  of  mining  life  at  an  early  day, 
none  of  which,  however,  are  published  in  this  vol- 
ume. One  day  the  editor  of  the  Trinity  Journal 
(my  home  paper)  asked  me  to  write  a  story  for 
him,  and  after  some  badinage  I  promised  to  do  so. 
I  was  then  mining  with  very  poor  success,  and,  it 
being  a  "  dry  "  winter,  I  had  lots  of  leisure  time 
on  my  hands,  so  I  wrote  the  story  of  the  "  Milk 
Pan."  It  was  received  with  such  general  favor 
that  thereafter,  whenever  a  holiday  of  any  sort  was 
coming  I  would  be  importuned  for  another  fit- 
ting story,  and  generally  I  complied.  I  have  made 
a  selection  of  what  /  think  the  best  of  what  I  have 


6  PREFACE 

written  and  herewith  present  them.  Many  of  the 
incidents  related  are  true  in  foundation,  being 
known  to  have  occurred  either  by  myself,  or  by 
reliable  personal  friends,  and  around  these  inci- 
dents I  have  thrown  the  glamour  of  romance.  To 
the  generation  of  men  and  women  who  were 
raised  to  manhood  and  womanhood  in  the  pioneer 
days  of  the  mines,  will  be  given  an  opportunity  to 
recall  from  their  own  recollections  some  of  the 
characters  and  incidents  similar  to  such  as  are 
related  herein. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

THE  MILK  PAN  13 

THE  NEW  LEAF  43 

THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  61 

THE  RESERVOIRS 89 

THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 107 

THE  JOES   • 125 

CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM  139 

BILL'S  LUCK   161 

THE  FERRY   173 

SIMPSON'S  THANKSGIVING   201 

STUBBS'  WOOING  211 

THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 221 

MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS  235 

MR.  SNIVELY^S  VACATION   261 

THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS  289 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing 
Page 
—  and  kneeling  by  the  low  chair  looked  up  into  his  face. 

Frontispiece 

" — here  you  are,  and  not  looking  nigh  as  peekid  as  I 

thought  you  would." 105 

"Why  don't  you  ask  me  to  come  in?    It  makes  no  differ- 
ence, for  I'm  coming  anyway." 131 

"You  have  come,  Mildred,  come  at  last.    How  many  years 

I  have  wished  for  your  coming." 147 

"Iwish  I  had  such  a  housekeeper  for  every  day,"  said 

Mr.  Swipes,  gallantly 227 

The  words  which  bound  them  together  until  death  or  the 

district  court  should  put  them  asunder,  were  spoken.  246 

"Then  you  can  get  out  of  here  on  my  invitation.    There's 

the  door ;    mosey  along."  296 


Leaves 

From  an  Argonaut's 
Note  Book 


PART   I 


THE  MILK  PAN. 


A  STORY  OF  Two  HOLIDAYS. 

The  mining  camp  at  which  I  wintered  in  the 
season  of  1850-51,  was  located  on  the  Middle 
Fork  of  a  stream  in  the  Middle  Mines  and  was 
known  on  the  express  list  as  the  town  of  Cedar- 
ville,  while  among  its  own  denizens  and  those  of 
the  camps  close  adjoining,  it  was  better  known  by 
an  appellation  which  not  even  a  desire  to  be 
graphic  shall  induce  me  to  transcribe  in  these  pages. 
Like  most  of  the  mining  camps  of  the  day,  the 
buildings  were  built  in  the  main  of  unhewn  logs 
and  were  built  solely  with  an  eye  to  comfort. 
Scattered  along  either  bank  of  the  stream  or  on  its 
tributary  gulches,  were  the  cabins  of  the  miners  to 
whom  the  little  place  was  a  sort  of  fountain-head 
from  which  they  weekly  received  their  supplies  of 
meat,  groceries,  tools  and  other  necessities  of  min- 
ing life.  The  mines  in  the  vicinity  were  not  among 
the  richest  of  the  many  placer  deposits  of  the 
State,  yet  they  contained  some  first-rate  claims, 
while  in  any  favorable  place,  more  than  wages 


14  THE  MILK  PAN 

could  be  realized  by  the  common  method  of  work- 
ing in  those  days — with  a  rocker. 

The  principal  building  of  the  town  and  the  one 
which  would  naturally  attract  the  attention  of  a 
newcomer,  was  the  hotel.  Like  the  other  build- 
ings, it  was  built,  also,  of  logs,  and  viewed  from 
a  distance,  it  had  the  appearance  of  three  log  cab- 
ins joined  together.  A  closer  glance  showed  that 
this  was  not  the  case,  but  the  builders,  probably 
not  having  force  sufficient  to  handle  logs  the  full 
length  required,  had  sawn  them  into  lengths  of 
sixteen  or  twenty  feet,  which  were  then  held  in  po- 
sition by  square  blocks  of  wood  let  into  notches  of 
the  logs,  cut  in  on  either  side  and  end.  The  whole 
was  covered  by  a  long,  flat  roof  of  shakes.  Inside, 
the  rough  walls  were  covered  with  a  lining  of 
cloth,  and  along  each  wall  a  triple  row  of  bunks, 
placed  above  each  other,  furnished  sleeping  quar- 
ters for  the  numerous  boarders  and  wayfarers 
whom  the  pursuit  of  fortune  attracted  to  the  town. 
A  long,  stationary  table  occupied  the  center  of  the 
room  and  at  either  end  a  huge  fire  place  extended 
across  the  width  of  the  building,  in  which  the  fires, 
like  those  of  heathen  theology,  seemed  never  to  die 
out.  This  rough  looking  structure  was,  if  we  were 
to  judge  by  the  little  sign  above  the  door,  the 
"Miners'  Home,"  and  the  sign  further  indicated 
that  the  proprietress  thereof  was  a  Mrs.  Grayson. 


THE  MILK  PAN  15 

In  the  four  or  five  months'  residence  I  had  under 
this  roof,  I  discovered  that  our  worthy  hostess  was 
fair  and  forty,  though  not  fat ;  that  she  had  buried 
one  husband,  drove  off  another  and  was  at  this 
time  on  the  lookout  for  a  third  one. 

The  boarders  at  the  Miners'  Home  averaged 
about  thirty  in  number,  made  up  of  miners  whose 
claims  were  near  the  town  and  an  occasional 
"sport"  who  dropped  in  to  dig  into  the  pockets  of 
the  aforesaid  miners.  A  motley  crowd  we  must 
have  been ;  I  can  look  back  through  the  twenty  years 
which  have  intervened  and  imagine  I  can  see  them 
all  again.  There  was  one  chap  (who  shall  be 
nameless)  who  was  perpetually  torturing  the 
strings  of  a  wheezy  fiddle — another  who  was 
equally  industrious  in  blowing  melancholy  wails 
from  a  cracked  flute.  Nearly  every  State  in  the 
Union  was  at  times  represented  among  us  and  the 
brogue  of  Ireland  and  accent  of  Germany  were 
not  often  missing.  We  were  on  the  best  of  terms 
with  ourselves,  our  landlady  and  with  each  other, 
and  in  this  happy  state  of  mind  the  first  month  of 
winter  had  nearly  passed  away  and  Christmas  eve 
was  upon  us. 

Let  none  of  my  fair  readers  conjure  up  visions 
of  a  Christmas  tree,  a  happy  social  gathering  and  a 
merry  dance  on  this  Christmas  eve.  No,  the  mines 
of  twenty  years  ago  and  the  mines  of  today  were 


1 6  THE  MILK  PAN 

as  different  as  night  is  from  day.  There  would 
have  been  willing  hands  to  raise  the  Christmas 
tree  and  load  its  branches  with  rich  and  valuable 
presents,  but  the  wives,  the  mothers  and  sisters 
and  other  loved  ones  to  whom  we  might  have 
given  them  were  dwelling  on  the  waters  of  another 
ocean.  What  would  Christmas  be  to  us? 

And,  sooth  to  say,  if  I  were  to  judge  the 
thoughts  of  others  by  my  own,  we  were  in  no  mood 
for  merry-making.  With  many  of  us  it  would  be 
the  first  anniversary  of  that  joyous  night  passed 
away  from  the  old  home  circle  and  memory  was 
too  busy  with  the  past.  The  old  home  influences 
yet  had  a  strong  hold  upon  our  hearts,  we  were 
too  young  in  the  country  to  find  pleasure  in  the 
revelry  of  drunken  men,  or  in  that  still  greater 
bane  of  California  life — the  gaming  table.  How 
well  I  could  remember  the  look  of  grateful  pride 
with  which  mother  had  glanced  around  at  us  on 
the  last  Christmas,  and  the  kiss  of  that  little  sister 
as  she  bid  me  to  "be  a  good  boy  and  not  stay  longer 
than  a  year."  And  then  there  was — pshaw.  They 
tell  me  she  weighs  TWO  HUNDRED  POUNDS  and  is 
the  mother  of  eight  children  —  children  which 
ought  to  be  mine. 

But  the  hostess  of  the  Miners'  Home  had  no 
idea  of  letting  the  occasion  pass  by  unobserved,  so 
the  minute  the  last  straggler  had  finished  his  sup- 


THE  MILK  PAN  1 7 

per  and  the  table  was  cleared  away,  Me.,  the  cook, 
appeared,  bringing  in  a  huge  pannikin  of  egg-nog. 
There  was  no  refusing  a  bumper  to  "many  happy 
returns"  when  presented  by  the  fair  hands  of  Mrs. 
Grayson,  herself,  so  we  lined  up  alongside  the  long 
table  and  only  waited  for  the  ladling-out  process 
to  be  completed  to  join  in  the  toast.  Just  as  Me. 
was  filling  the  landlady's  own  glass,  a  hurried  step 
came  to  the  door  which  opened  and  a  miner  en- 
tered. He  was  one  of  two  who  lived  and  mined 
on  "Sucker  Gulch,"  more  than  a  mile  distant — 
with  his  partner  I  had  formed  a  slight  acquaint- 
ance when  they  were  in  town  on  some  of  their 
trading  visits.  His  forehead  was  wet  with  perspira- 
tion although  the  night  was  cold  and  his 
breathing  was  short  and  heavy,  as  though  he  had 
been  hurrying. 

"Just  in  time,  Mr.  Styles,"  said  the  widow,  who 
appeared  to  know  him.  "We  were  about  to  drink 
to  Christmas  eve;  here,  take  this  glass  and  I  will 
get  another." 

He  shook  his  head  and  motioned  back  the  prof- 
fered glass  with  his  hand.  "I  have  no  time  to 
drink,  or  talk,"  he  said,  when  he  had  partly  recov- 
ered breath.  "Ike  is  pretty  badly  hurt,  and  I  have 
come  to  have  some  of  the  boys  go  for  the  doctor." 


I  8  THE  MILK  PAN 

"Hurt?"  "How?"  "When?"  "Where?" 
These  questions  came  in  a  quick  succession  as  we 
crowded  around  the  newcomer. 

"By  a  blast;  just  at  dark.  There  was  a  big 
boulder  that  lay  across  the  gulch  square  in  our 
way.  We  thought  we  could  shatter  it  enough  by 
one  blast,  so  that  it  could  be  moved.  Ike  was  tamp- 
ing the  charge  when  it  went  off,  somehow,  and 
knocked  him  over.  I  thought  him  dead,  at  the 
first,  but  he  only  seems  to  be  badly  bruised.  I  got 
him  to  the  cabin,  but  I  fear  he  will  be  blind." 

A  murmur  of  pity  ran  around  the  room,  then  a 
moment's  silence.  Mrs.  Grayson  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"Well,  one  of  you  must  go  for  the  doctor. 
There's  my  pony  in  the  stable  for  whoever  wants 
him.  Ride  him  fast  as  he'll  go  till  you  get  to  lone, 
but  let  him  take  it  easy  coming  back." 

"I'll  go,"  said  a  lank  Hoosier,  to  whom  we  had 
given  the  name  of  "Scraggy."  "I  reckon  I  know 
that  road  pretty  well,  and  will  get  over  the  ground 
about  as  fast  as  any  of  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Styles.  "Now,  who  of  you 
will  go  up  to  the  cabin  with  me?" 

"I  will."  "And  I.  "And  I,"  spoke  a  dozen 
voices  at  once.  Quick  as  quiet  was  a  little  restored, 
I  spoke  to  Styles. 


THE  MILK  PAN  19 

"Choose  any  of  us  you  may  prefer,  Mr.  Styles. 
We  are  all  willing  to  be  of  any  assistance  to  you 
in  this  trouble,  if  we  can." 

"Well,"  he  said,  reflectively,  "I  guess  you  had 
better  go  with  me.  I've  heard  him  speak  of  you 
once  or  twice,  and  you  won't  seem  so  much  like  a 
stranger  to  him.  I  guess  you  and  I  can  take  care 
of  him  tonight,  and  after  the  doctor  has  seen  him 
we  will  know  what's  got  to  be  done,  and  if  we  need 
any  more  help,  we  will  call  on  these  boys  then. 
Now,  if  you  please,  we'll  be  off,  for  I  had  to  leave 
him  alone  while  I  came  down.  There's  no  one 
working  on  the  gulch  but  us  two." 

Alone,  in  his  agony.  There  was,  indeed,  no 
time  to  be  lost  in  returning.  Perhaps,  even  now, 
in  the  delirium  of  pain,  he  might  be  trying  to  grope 
his  way  along  the  rocky  path  or  be  lost  among  the 
gulches.  It  took  but  a  minute  for  me  to  throw 
some  loose  blankets  over  my  shoulder  and  we 
started  as  rapidly  as  the  darkness  would  permit, 
up  the  creek.  It  was  but  a  rough  trail  by  daylight, 
winding  along  the  steep  mountain  side,  and  in  the 
night  it  was  anything  but  a  pleasure  trip.  But, 
making  the  best  time  we  could,  inside  of  half  an 
hour  we  reached  the  cabin  on  Sucker  Gulch. 

To  our  delight  we  found  he  had  not  left  the 
house,  but  was  lying  in  the  bunk  where  his  partner 
had  laid  him.  He  had  been  up,  it  seemed,  and  had 


20  THE  MILK  PAN 

brought  the  water  bucket  to  his  bedside  and  had 
wet  a  towel  and  put  it  over  his  face  to  relieve  the 
intense  pain.  He  did  not  want  anything,  he  said, 
in  answer  to  our  inquiries,  but  would  we  build  a 
fire,  it  was  cold  and  so  very,  very  dark. 

Styles  and  I  had  lighted  a  candle  when  we  first 
went  in.  We  looked  at  each  other  and  each  read 
the  other's  thoughts  without  a  word. 

I  persuaded  Styles,  who  was  pretty  well  tired 
out  to  go  to  bed  and  let  me  keep  watch  until  morn- 
ing. So  all  through  that  long,  dreary  night  I  sat 
by  the  fireside,  listening  to  the  wandering  fancies 
which  were  conjured  up  by  his  fevered  brain,  put- 
ting in  a  word  of  comfort  and  hope  in  the  more 
lucid  moments,  and  praying — oh,  how  earnest, 
that  daylight  and  the  doctor  would  come.  Well, 
the  longest  night  must  have  an  end  and  at  last  it 
came — the  cold,  gray  dawn  of  Christmas  morning, 
but  a  sorrowful  Christmas  it  was  to  poor  Ike 
Marston. 

There  was  never  music  sounded  sweeter  to  my 
ears  than  did  the  sound  of  the  clatter  of  horses5 
feet  on  the  frozen  ground,  as  soon  after  daylight 
the  doctor  and  Scraggy  came  galloping  up.  The 
widow's  pony  had  given  out  at  lone,  but 
Scraggy  had,  somehow,  impressed  another  into 
service  so  as  to  guide  the  doctor  on  the  return  trip. 
After  a  moment's  conversation  with  me  the  doctor 


THE  MILK  PAN  21 

went  into  the  house  and  to  Ike's  bedside.  Styles, 
aroused  by  the  noise  of  their  coming,  turned  out 
and  stirring  the  fire  into  a  cheerful  blaze  began 
preparations  for  breakfast.  Scraggy  and  I  sat 
down  on  a  bench  outside  and  conversed  in  low 
tones  until  the  doctor  came  out,  then  looked  in- 
quiringly at  him.  He  shook  his  head  ominously. 

"It's  too  soon  to  say  with  certainty,  but  I  fear  he 
will  never  see  again.  Who  is  to  stay  with  him?" 

I  could  not  tell  him  that,  thought  the  boys  would 
take  turns. 

"It  would  be  better  for  him  if  a  couple  of  you 
would  take  the  whole  duty,  it  will  not  be  for  long. 
Better  that  than  a  change  of  nurses,  I  have  found. 
Suppose  you  and  his  partner  do  it  until  I  come 
again  ?  I  will  leave  the  lotions  and  directions  with 
you  now." 

I  promised  what  he  required  and  took  the  medi- 
cines he  had  brought  along  with  him. 

"I  shall  come  up  again  day  after  tomorrow,  if 
I  can  get  away ;  there  is  considerable  sickness  about 
lone,  now;  and  it  keeps  me  hustling.  Follow  the 
directions  I  have  written  down  and  it  will  be  al- 
most as  good  as  if  I  stayed  here  myself.  That 
coffee  smells  rather  inviting  and  my  night  rides 
makes  me  feel  wolfish." 

We  entered  the  cabin,  where  we  found  Styles 
had  breakfast  ready,  to  which  we  sat  down.  The 


22  THE  MILK  PAN 

doctor  and  Scraggy  then  took  their  leave  and,  after 
having  told  Styles  what  the  doctor  had  said  to  me 
and  giving  him  the  written  directions,  I  went  to 
bed.  It  was  afternoon  when  I  awoke,  several  of 
the  boys  from  Cedarville  were  there,  having  come 
up  to  see  how  the  sufferer  was  getting  along  and 
to  offer  their  friendly  offices.  I  told  them  what  the 
arrangements  were  and  after  receiving  a  message 
for  my  partners  not  to  expect  me  for  some  days, 
they  left  for  home. 

At  night  my  vigil  recommenced.  I  had  given 
him  some  strong  opiates,  under  the  influence  of 
which  he  had  become  more  quiet.  I  was  sitting, 
reading  by  the  fire,  when  he  started  me  with  the 
question : 

uWhat  does  the  doctor  think  about  it?" 

It  was  asked  so  unexpectedly  that  I  was  at  a  loss 
what  to  say.  He  waited  a  moment  then  added : 

"There's  not  much  hope  that  I  will  have  my 
sight  again,  is  there?" 

I  felt  it  would  be  cruel  to  give  him  hopes  which 
I  felt  could  never  be  realized,  so  I  answered,  "I 
am  afraid  not." 

"So  I  thought,  and  have  thought  from  the  first. 
It's  always  best  to  look  square  at  things  as  they 
are.  Where's  Styles?" 

"Sleeping." 


THE  MILK  PAN  23 

uSo  I  thought,  for  I  have  not  heard  him  moving 
about  for  some  time.  Now,  my  friend,  you  must 
write  a  letter  for  me." 

"Now?" 

"Yes,  now.  You'll  find  pens  and  ink  on  the 
shelf  above  the  fireplace.  There's  wafers  and 
paper  in  my  valise  behind  the  pork  barrel.  I  want 
it  sent  to  Drytown  tomorrow,  to  meet  that  express 
and  catch  the  steamer." 

I  found  the  things  where  he  had  indicated  and, 
drawing  close  to  his  bedside,  prepared  to  write  as 
he  might  dictate.  It  was  some  time  before  he 
spoke  again,  and  when  he  did,  his  voice  was 
tremulous  and  broken. 

"Oh,  God;  this  is  the  hardest  of  all;  and  yet  it 

must  be  done.  Write,  if  you  please "  And 

taking  the  words  as  they  fell  from  his  lips,  I  wrote 
as  follows: 

Alice — Do  not  start  on  the  journey  we  have  spoken  of. 
I  am  blind — hopelessly  blind  for  life — from  an  accident 
while  mining.  I  cannot  ask  you  to  share  a  life  which  must 
henceforth  be  a  burden  to  myself  and  to  all  who  may  try 
to  befriend  me.  Let  what  has  passed  between  us  be  as 
nothing,  and  my  earnest  prayer  will  be  that  you  may  yet 
be  happy  with  one  who  will  love  you  and  strive  to  be  all 
to  you  that  I  would  have  been. 

Farewell,  Alice,  dear  Alice,  forever. 

ISAAC  MARSTON. 


24  THE  MILK  PAN 

I  sealed  the  letter  and  directed  it  as  he  told  me, 
to  "Miss  Alice  Fenwick,  Rome,  New  York." 

I  knew  too  well  what  was  passing  in  his  mind, 
so  made  no  comment,  though  I  could  not  but  ap- 
prove of  what  he  had  done.  We  remained  for  an 
hour  or  more  in  silence,  ere  he  spoke  again : 

"It's  pretty  rough,  Sandy,  to  have  everything 
swept  from  me  at  one  blow.  The  light  has  not 
gone  out  of  my  eyes,  alone ;  there  is  a  deeper  dark- 
ness in  my  heart." 

"You  have  done  wisely  and  unselfishly,  Ike," 
said  I.  "It  would  have  been  selfish  and  inconsid- 
erate in  you  to  have  done  otherwise,  but  why  this 
haste?  I  think,  if  it  had  been  my  own  case,  I 
should  have  waited  a  while  to  see  if  there  would 
not  be  at  least  a  partial  restoration  of  sight  and  be 
governed  accordingly.  But  you,  of  course,  are 
in  a  better  position  to  judge." 

"She  was  coming  out  to  join  me  soon,"  was  Ike's 
reply,  "and  if  I  gave  myself  time  to  think,  I  might 
cherish  unfounded  hopes  until  it  would  be  too  late 
to  write  to  her.  No,  it's  better  as  it  is." 

He  turned  his  face  from  me  and  said  no  more. 
After  that  for  many  days  he  answered  only  in 
monosyllables  when  spoken  to  and  at  times  I  was 
fearful  that  Reason  would  be  driven  from  her 
throne.  But  under  the  care  of  Doctor  Sexton,  who 
acted  the  part  of  the  physician,  and  the  friend  as 


THE  MILK  PAN  25 

well,  he  soon  began  to  improve  in  general  health, 
and  by  the  time  January  was  half  gone,  was  able 
to  go  out  and  sit  in  the  warm  sunshine.  And  at 
last,  one  bright  afternoon  the  widow's  pony  was 
brought  up,  he  was  placed  upon  her  back  and 
Styles  and  I  took  him  down  to  the  Home. 

There  he  was  a  welcome  guest  and  as  there  was 
always  some  one  around  who  could  be  company  for 
him  and  minister  to  his  simple  wants,  we  went  back 
to  our  places  in  the  mines  again.  Those  of  the 
boys  who  had  cabins  of  their  own  would  drop  in 
to  see  him  and  often  take  him  away  for  days  at  a 
time,  to  visit  with  them  at  their  homes.  And  so 
the  last  month  of  winter  was  passing  away,  and 
the  bright,  warm  sunshine  and  swelling  buds  be- 
tokened the  coming  of  spring. 

WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY. 

If  there  was  a  day  in  the  calendar  which  was 
looked  forward  to  with  greater  expectation,  and 
which  in  its  coming  was  greeted  with  a  greater 
reverence  than  any  other,  it  was  "Express  Day." 
Once  a  week  did  that  redoubtable  day  arrive,  and 
sure  as  Friday  came,  the  two  grey  horses,  with  the 
little  covered  wagon  would  drive  up  to  the  store, 
deposit  its  little  load  of  treasures  and  then,  on  to 
its  final  destination,  six  miles  distant.  Our  ex- 
press, having  sundry  commissions  to  execute  along 


26  THE  MILK  PAN 

the  route,  was  somewhat  erratic  in  point  of  time, 
sometimes  happening  along  right  away  after  din- 
ner and  at  others  it  would  not  put  in  an  appear- 
ance until  late  in  the  afternoon. 

On  the  particular  Friday  of  which  I  am  writing, 
our  company  was  on  the  lookout  for  returns  from 
some  quartz  which  we  had  sent  to  Sacramento  to 
be  assayed,  and  consequently,  the  arrival  of  the 
express  was  looked  for  with  unusual  interest  by  us. 
So  I  had  not  gone  with  the  boys  to  work,  as  usual, 
but  waited  to  see  the  expressman  in  person  and 
obtain  all  the  particulars.  We  were  sitting  outside 
the  store  on  some  empty  boxes,  when  the  wagon 
appeared  in  sight,  descending  the  hill,  across  a 
little  ravine. 

At  the  first  glance  we  saw  that  the  wagon  con- 
tained a  lady  passenger.  As  this  was  something 
which  had  never  before  occurred,  we  were,  of 
course,  decidedly  interested.  Who  was  she? 
Where  should  she  be  going?  It  could  not  be  a 
friend  of  Mrs.  Grayson,  for  that  lady  had  said 
nothing  of  expecting  one.  Perhaps  she  was  go- 
ing on  to  the  Indian  Diggings.  Our  speculations 
were  only  cut  short  when  the  wagon  stopped  in 
front  of  the  store  and  the  driver,  after  assisting 
his  passenger  to  alight,  pulled  out  a  large  travel- 
ing trunk  and  set  it  by  the  door.  The  trader  had 


THE  MILK  PAN  27 

already  gone  in  with  the  letter  bag  and  was  busy 
sorting  out  those  for  our  place,  so  he  turned  to  me. 

" Where  is  that  man  stopping  who  got  blinded 
last  winter?  This  lady  is  a  friend  of  his." 

"Marston  went  up  to  the  'Forty  NinerY  yes- 
terday," said  I.  "I  believe  he  intends  stopping 
with  him  a  few  days." 

"Where  does  the  gentleman  you  speak  of  live?" 
said  the  lady.  I  turned  to  the  questioner  as  she 
spoke  and  saw  that  she  was  a  fair-haired  girl  of, 
perhaps,  twenty  years,  rather  slight  in  figure  and 
while  she  was  not  one  who  would  be  called  beauti- 
ful, was  yet  possessed  of  that  pleasant,  womanly 
expression  of  countenance  which  is  more  attractive 
than  mere  physical  beauty  can  ever  be.  "Is  it  far 
from  here?"  she  added. 

"Nearly  a  mile,"  I  answered.  "But,  if  you  wish 
I  can  go  up  and  have  Marston  come  down." 

"Thank  you,  no;  but  if  you  will  direct  me  how 
to  go  I  will  go  and  find  him,  myself." 

"That  I  cannot  well  do;  the  trail  branches  sev- 
eral times  and  even  if  you  found  the  house,  there 
might  be  no  one  at  home.  They  are  probably  at 
work,  now,  and  he  may  be  in  the  claim  with  him. 
If  you  can  wait  a  few  minutes  I  will  go  with  you." 

She  thanked  me  and  nodded  and  hurriedly  des- 
patching my  business  with  the  expressman,  we 
started.  There  was  but  little  opportunity  for  con- 


28  THE  MILK  PAN 

versation  as  she  followed  in  my  steps  along  the 
narrow,  winding  mountain  path,  so  the  journey 
was  made  in  silence.  We  soon  reached  the  little 
flat  where  there  was  a  cluster  of  cabins,  one  of 
which  belonged  to  the  Forty  Niner,  and  I 
judged  by  the  blue  smoke  from  the  chimney  that 
some  one  was  inside.  So,  without  further  ado  I 
stepped  up  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

It  was  Ike's  voice  that  bade  me  come  in  and  I 
saw  that  at  its  tones  my  companion  started  and 
trembled.  I  pushed  open  the  door  and  stepped 
inside.  A  ruddy  fire  of  oak  coals  was  glowing  in 
the  fireplace  and  he  had  drawn  a  little,  rude,  home- 
made rocking  chair  to  the  hearth  and  was  sitting 
there,  alone.  Evidently  he  had  moved  the  chair  a 
little  round  at  the  sound  of  our  approach,  and  sat 
with  the  poor,  sightless  eyes  turned  to  the  light  of 
the  open  door.  All  this  I  took  in  at  a  glance. 

"I  have  brought  a  lady  to  see  you,  Ike,"  said  I. 

"A  lady,"  he  exclaimed,  wonderingly.  "A  lady 
to  see  me?" 

"Oh,  Isaac."  It  was  my  companion  who  spoke. 
He  leaped  from  the  chair  as  if  electrified. 

"My  God,"  he  exclaimed;  "am  I  dreaming? 
Am  I  mad?  Or  is  that  Alice's  voice?" 

Pale  and  trembling,  she  had  leaned  against  the 
rough  post  of  the  door  for  support.  She  spoke 


THE  MILK  PAN  29 

again:     "No,  Isaac,  you  are  not  dreaming,  for  I 
am  here." 

"Oh-h-h  Alice."  There  was  a  world  of  agony 
in  those  two  words.  "Alice,  Alice;  why  have  you 
come?" 

Only  a  moment  did  she  pause,  as  if  to  gather 
strength.  Then  she  walked  steadily  and  firmly  to 
where  he  sat  and  kneeling  by  the  low  chair  looked 
up  into  his  face. 

"To  be  to  you  all  you  would  have  been  to  me, 
if  this  misfortune  had  fallen  on  me  as  it  has  upon 
you.  To  be  your  companion,  your  comforter, 
your  wife.  Once  you  sought  me  from  all  the 
world  and  gave  me  the  love  of  your  heart. 
Now,  though  all  the  world  may  fall  away  from 
you,  yet  I  will  still  be  true." 

I  had  managed  to  reach  the  door  while  she  was 
saying  this,  and  closing  it  behind  me,  left  them  to 
themselves.  I  don't  know  which  was  happiest,  Ike, 
or  myself,  at  this  sudden  lifting  of  the  clouds 
which  was  to  pour  such  a  golden  flood  of  sunshine 
into  the  darkness  of  his  life.  I  really  believe  I 
was  on  the  point  of  climbing  into  a  scrub  oak  and 
giving  a  few  yells  to  properly  show  my  delight, 
when  I  saw  the  Forty  Niner  coming.  So  I  went 
to  meet  him  and  briefly  told  him  what  had  hap- 
pened. 


30  THE  MILK  PAN 

"Well,  God  bless  her;  she's  a  brave  gal,"  said 
he,  when  I  had  concluded.  "Pity  all  wimmen's 
naturs  ain't  cast  in  the  same  mould.  If  they  were, 
I  wouldn't  be  prowlin'  round  this  thievin'  country 
today.  Reckon  it's  better,  though,  as  it  is.  We 
learn  to  'predate  a  true  woman  when  we  see  one." 

"You  speak  as  if  you  had  had  a  rough  experi- 
ence with  the  sex." 

"Sorter.  I  sot  to  one  onct  till  I  thought  I  had 
her,  dead  sure.  Fust  thing  I  knowed  I  was 
flopped  for  a  feller  that  had  less  sense  but  more 
dollars  than  I.  It  sorter  upsets  a  feller's  idees 
about  wimmen  to  be  sarved  in  that  way,  and  then  it 
takes  one  like  this  yer  one  to  get  'em  in  the  right 
channel  agin." 

I  did  not  feel  at  all  inclined  to  combat  his  phil- 
osophy, so  we  walked  on  in  silence. 

"Well,"  said  Goodman  (that  was  his  name), 
"I  reckon  they  had  better  go  down  with  you  to  the 
Home.  I've  got  no  place  for  the  gal  to  bunk  in, 
and  nat'rally  they'll  want  to  be  together  as  much 
as  they  can.  Mother  Grayson  can  rout  that  cub 
of  her'n  out  into  the  big  room  among  you  fellers 
an'  let  the  gal  have  his  bed,  'till  we  can  see  what's 
to  be  done.  I'd  go  down  with  you,  but  I've  got  a 
loaf  sot  to  risin'  an'  must  tend  to  that." 

We  entered  the  cabin  where  I  presented  the 
Forty-niner  to  Alice.  They  had  already  come  to 


THE  MILK  PAN  31 

the  same  conclusion  we  had  and  were  only  waiting 
for  my  return  to  start,  as  it  was  nearly  sunset. 
With  a  few  parting  words  to  Goodman,  who  prom- 
ised to  be  down  in  the  evening,  we  started  and 
reached  the  Home  before  dark.  Mrs.  Grayson 
had  a  small  clapboard  addition  built  on  to  the 
back  part  of  the  main  building,  where  she  and  her 
son,  a  lad  of  twelve  or  fourteen,  ate  and  slept  by 
themselves.  There  was  a  little  fireplace,  two  beds, 
a  lounge  and  a  rocking  chair — oh,  it  was  a  cozy  lit- 
tle place.  I  took  Ike  and  Alice  there,  brought 
down  the  trunk  from  the  store  and  left  them  in  the 
care  of  Mrs.  Grayson. 

Of  course,  the  arrival  of  Alice  was  the  great 
subject  of  conversation  at  the  long  supper  table. 
Ike  and  Alice  ate  in  the  widow's  room,  and  at  sup- 
per and  afterwards,  I  had  to  tell  all  I  knew  about 
it  over  and  over  again.  Rough  voices  joined  in 
praising  her  unselfish  devotion  and  many  and  fer- 
vent were  the  wishes  that  went  up  for  their  future 
welfare.  After  a  while  I  left  the  crowd,  and  went 
into  where  they  were.  She  had  opened  the  trunk 
and  was  exhibiting  some  of  its  contents  to  the  ad- 
miring eyes  of  Mrs.  Grayson,  while  Ike  sat  in 
front  of  the  little  fire  a  perfect  picture  of  content- 
ment. I  sat  down  by  him  and  we  entered  into 
conversation  when  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door  and 
the  Forty-niner  entered. 


32  THE  MILK  PAN 

"Well,  got  here  all  right,  I  see,"  said  he,  rub- 
bing his  hands,  cheerfully.  "Evenin',  Mrs.  Gray- 
son.  No,  thank  you;  I  won't  sit  down  jest  now. 
I've  come  arter  Sandy  thar,  to  go  to  the  miners' 


meetin.' 


"What's  the  meeting  for?"  inquired  Ike. 
"Some  trouble  over  claims?" 

"No,  no;  no  trouble.  Something  about  work- 
ing claims,  I  b'lieve.  It's  better  to  have  things 
fixed  up,  you  know,  so  there'll  be  no  trouble.  But 
what's  that  thing  you've  got  in  your  lap?" 

"This?"  said  Ike,  raising  it  up.  "Why,  this  is 
a  milk-pan." 

"So  it  is,"  said  the  Forty-niner,  looking  closer. 
"Whar  did  that  thing  come  from?" 

"I  brought  it,"  said  Alice,  taking  the  question 
to  herself.  "Isaac  wrote  me  how  the  miners 
worked  and  how  at  night  they  washed  their  gold 
in  a  tin  pan.  I  was  washing  that  pan  one  day  and 
I  told  mother  I  was  going  to  bring  it  with  me  for 
Isaac  to  wash  his  gold  in.  When  the  letter  came, 
telling  of  his  misfortune  it  was  half  filled  with 
papers  of  flower  seeds  and  other  trifles.  So  I  just 
set  it  in  the  trunk  and  brought  it  along." 

"Well,  you'd  better  keep  it  as  a  sort  of  keep- 
sake," said  the  Forty-niner,  "it  would  never  be 
much  a'count  as  a  minin'  pan.  Lord  bless  yer  in- 
nocent heart,  that  rim  would  be  more  crookeder 


THE  MILK  PAN  33 

ner  a  dog's  hind  leg  afore  he'd  rattle  out  one  pan 
of  bedrock.  Puts  me  in  mind,  though,  of  some  of 
the  things  fellers  would  invent  in  Ameriky  an' 
bring  out  here  to  work  in  the  diggin's.  Thar  was 
one  like  a  churn.  Shovel  in  the  dirt,  then  pour  in 
water.  Slosh  it  round  an'  the  gold  settles  to  the 
bottom.  Pour  off  the  mud  an'  thar's  yer  money. 
Haw,  haw,  haw." 

Mr.  Goodman  was  so  immensely  pleased  at  his 
recollections  of  the  inventive  geniuses,  that  he 
quite  forgot  about  the  miners'  meeting.  So  I  jog- 
ged his  memory  on  that  point  and  with  a  promise 
to  be  back  soon,  we  started. 

It  did  not  take  us  long  to  get  through  with  the 
business  and  bring  us  back  again.  The  trunk  was 
closed  and  put  away  and  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Jas- 
per were  in  the  big  room  among  the  boarders, 
while  Ike  and  Alice  sat  side  by  side  in  front  of  the 
fire.  Goodman  and  I  took  seats  at  either  side. 

"You  must  have  lost  no  time  in  comin'  arter  you 
heard  what  had  happened,"  said  the  Forty-niner, 
suddenly  addressing  Alice. 

"The  next  day  but  one,"  she  replied.  "I 
thought  there  was  no  time  to  lose." 

"True  as  preachin,'  '  said  Goodman.  "But 
you're  a  brave  gal  for  all  that.  'Tain't  every  one 
would  a  showed  your  grit." 


34  THE  MILK  PAN 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "But 
would  you  have  had  me  do  otherwise?" 

"Not  by  a  d —  d —  d —  by  any  means."  I 
rather  think  Mr.  Forty-niner  came  pretty  near  for- 
getting himself  just  then.  In  a  moment  he  re- 
sumed: "That  brings  me  to  a  question  I  want  to 
ax  you  an'  you  must  pardon  me  for  axin'  it,  as  I 
have  a  good  reason.  When  are  you-er-a  goin'  to 
be-er-a,  married?" 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Alice,  smiling.  "Well,  I 
don't  mind  telling  you,  though  it's  a  great  secret. 
If  there  is  a  clergyman  in  the  place,  I  am  ready 


now." 


"Bully  for  you,"  roared  the  Forty-niner,  ap- 
parently much  relieved  by  her  straight- forward 
answer.  "The  fact  is,  Miss  Alice,  I'll  tell  yer.  I 
was  Cheerman  at  the  miners'  meetin'  tonight,  and 
we  got  to  talkin'  of  you  an'  Ike,  here,  an'  what  a 
true,  brave  gal  you  are.  All  the  boys  are  friends 
of  Ike  an'  of  you,  too,  though  you  don't  know 
them  nor  they  you.  So,  they  sorter  deppertized  me 
as  the  Cheerman,  to  ax  you  if  you'd  as  lief  have  it 
come  off  in  the  big  room,  so's  they  can  all  be  thar." 

"You  have  been  such  good  friends  to  Isaac  in 
his  trouble,  that  I  can  refuse  you  nothing.  Is 
there  a  clergyman  living  here?" 

"No,  not  right  in  town;  thar's  one  livin'  on 
Spanish  Creek,  over  the  divide.  He's  minin'  now, 


THE  MILK  PAN  35 

but  I  reckon  that  makes  no  difference.  We  can 
send  Jasper  for  him  in  the  mornin',  tomorrer  you 
know,  will  be  Washin'ton's  Birthday  an'  you 
couldn't  pick  a  better  day  if  you  had  the  year  to 
choose  from." 

"Let  it  be  as  you  wish,"  said  Alice.  ''Isaac,  I 
know,  will  be  willing,  for  we  were  talking  of 
nearly  the  same  thing  when  you  came  in." 

"All  right,  then.  I'll  tell  the  boys  to  be  on 
hand  tomorrer  evenin'."  And  leaving  the  couple  to 
themselves,  we  joined  the  crowd  in  the  big  room. 
And  when  Ike  joined  us  an  hour  later,  many  and 
fervent  were  the  congratulations  from  his  old 
mining  friends. 

lie******* 

"Well,  I  do  wonder!  If  the  Higgins  boys  have 
not  gone  to  work  this  morning !  I  think  if  I  had  as 
good  a  claim  as  they  have,  I'd  try  and  keep 
Washington's  Birthday.  And  they're  Americans, 
too.  Some  people  want  to  get  rich  too  fast." 

Mrs.  Grayson  seemed  so  indignant  at  the  lack 
of  patriotism  in  the  Higginses  that  I  had  to  tell  her 
that  my  own  company  was  also  going  to  work. 

"You  are,  hey?  And  I  declare  if  there  ain't 
John  Walton  getting  his  pan.  Why,  it  looks  as  if 
you  were  all  going  to  work  as  usual." 

"Guess  you're  about  right,  Mrs.  Grayson;  we've 
got  a  smart  fit  on." 


36  THE  MILK  PAN 

"Oh,  you  have,  hey?  Tomorrow  will  be  Sun- 
day, and  you  can  work  then,  if  your  smart  fit  lasts. 
Well,  you  miners  are  the  queerest  set,"  and  our 
landlady  bounced  off  to  the  kitchen  to  pour  her 
sorrows  into  the  sympathizing  ears  of  the  cook. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  fact  was  that  our 
hostess,  albeit  a  good,  kind-hearted  woman  as  ever 
lived,  had  a  hankering  fondness  for  the  head  of 
liberty,  as  portrayed  upon  the  face  of  the  "al- 
mighty dollar,"  and  loved  to  see  that  emblem 
stacked  up  in  her  drawer.  No  doubt  the  good 
lady  had  made  a  mental  calculation  of  the  quan- 
tity of  dust  she  would  take  in  in  exchange  for  "hot 
toddies,"  "port  sangarees,"  cigars  and  other  trifles 
which  this  unlooked  for  proceeding  on  the  part  of 
the  miners  in  going  to  work,  instead  of  "laying 
off"  as  expected,  had  upset  entirely.  Under  the 
circumstances,  I  think  our  landlady  was  a  very  ill- 
used  woman,  in  which  opinion,  I  have  no  doubt 
my  readers  will  agree  with  me. 

But  if  Mrs.  Grayson  had  reason  to  complain 
that  there  was  no  demand  that  day  for  drinkables, 
she  had  certainly  no  cause  for  complaint  in  regard 
to  the  eating  department.  For,  at  the  long  sup- 
per table  (which  was  not  set  till  a  late  hour) ,  not 
only  the  regular  boarders  but  all  the  miners  in  the 
neighborhood  were  present.  They  had  evidently 
come  in  direct  from  their  claims,  as  every  company 


THE  MILK  PAN  37 

brought  the  company  gold  pan,  containing  the 
day's  work,  with  them.  These  pans  were  put  up 
on  the  long  shelf  by  the  fireplace,  and  the  boys 
proceeded  to  make  ready  for  the  coming  occasion. 
Their  preparations  were  not  extensive  nor  did  they 
take  much  time — a  new  blue  or  red  shirt  from  the 
store  and  a  fresh  pair  of  overalls,  or  pants  was  the 
extent. 

When  the  supper  was  all  finished  the  long  table 
was  partly  taken  up  and  a  smaller  one  brought  in 
from  the  widow's  room.  On  it  were  placed  a 
couple  of  candles,  the  widow's  Bible  and,  odd 
enough  it  looked  there,  too,  Alice's  milk-pan.  And 
now  they  came ;  Ike  and  Alice,  the  widow  and  Mr. 
Styles.  The  clergyman  was  in  waiting  and,  step- 
ping forward,  after  a  few  remarks  appropriate 
to  the  occasion,  pronounced  the  words  which  made 
them  husband  and  wife.  As  he  retired,  the  Forty- 
niner  rose  and  drawing  his  stool  up  to  the  little 
table,  checked  with  a  motion  of  his  hand  the  ap- 
plause which  was  beginning  to  be  heard. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "it  is  now  nearly  nine  o'clock, 
the  time  to  which  the  miners'  meetin'  last  night 
adjourned.  As  Cheerman  of  that  meetin'  I  call 
you  to  order." 

Then  there  was  instant  silence. 

"I  propose  now,  in  this  yer  business  we  have  in 
hand,  that  we  begin  down  the  creek  an'  foller  the 


38  THE  MILK  PAN 

lead  up.     So  many  as  thinks  that  way  say  *  aye.* 
Tother  side,  W  " 

A  growl  of  "ayes"  came  from  all  parts  of  the 
room. 

"Very  good,  that's  settled.  We're  ready  to  hear 
from  the  boys  on  the  Secret  Ravine." 

This  was  the  company  of  our  whilom  friend, 
Scraggy.  Without  a  word  that  worthy  raised  his 
long  length  from  the  bench  on  which  he  was  re- 
clining, selected  the  company  pan  from  the  array 
of  pans  on  the  shelf,  held  it  over  the  fire  a  mo- 
ment, shook  it  until  the  last  particle  of  the  gold 
was  loosened,  then  stepping  up  to  the  little  table 
poured  its  contents  into  the  little  milk  pan. 

"Very  good,"  said  the  Forty-niner,  peering  in. 
"Them  fellers  what  struck  them  diggin's  were  sen- 
sible in  keepin'  it  to  themselves.  The  Higgins 
Brothers." 

The  eldest  of  the  brothers  took  their  pan  and, 
going  through  the  same  procedure,  added  its  con- 
tents to  the  other.  They  had  the  name  of  having 
the  best  claim  in  the  neighborhood. 

"Better  yet,"  said  the  Chairman.  "You  fellers 
have  got  two  ounce  diggin's  onless  you're  saltin' 
'em  on  yerselves.  Grub  Gulch." 

This  was  my  company.  One  of  my  partners 
took  our  pan  and  added  its  contents  to  the  grow- 


THE  MILK  PAN  39 

ing  pile.     The  Forty-niner  had  his  comment  to 
make,  of  course. 

"Powerful  good  grub  you  fellers  can  have  if  it 
pungles  that  a  way.  Tarheel  Flat." 

And  so  the  call  went  on,  until  every  company  in 
the  camp  (including  Goodman's  own)  had  been 
called  and  each  pan  emptied  into  the  little  milk  pan 
on  the  table.  Alice  sat  and  looked  wonderingly 
on,  but  Mrs.  Grayson  (who  had  not  been  let  into 
the  secret  for  fear  she  would  be  tempted  to  give  a 
hint) ,  I  think,  mistrusted  something  from  the  mo- 
ment we  got  her  to  get  the  pan  from  Alice. 

When  the  last  pan  was  emptied  and  the  bottom 
of  the  little  milk  pan  thickly  covered  with  the  shin- 
ing, yellow  dust,  the  Forty-niner  arose,  and  taking 
it,  advanced  to  where  the  newly-married  pair  were 
sitting.  "This,"  said  he,  presenting  the  pan  to 
Alice,  "is  a  token  of  our  respect  and  admiration  of 
true  womanly  love  and  of  the  friendship  we  feel 
for  your  husband.  The  doctor  has  told  some  of  us 
that  latterly  he  has  some  hopes  that  your  husband's 
sight  may  be  partly  restored  if  he  is  able  to  place 
himself  under  the  care  of  some  of  them  doctor 
chaps  down  at  the  Bay.  We  agreed  last  night  to 
take  a  day  which  might  have  been  spent  in  idle- 
ness, or  pYaps  wuss,  and  give  what  we  made  for 
the  purpose  of  takin'  our  part  of  the  burden  on  one 
of  our  number.  What  has  happened  to  him  in  the 


40  THE  MILK  PAN 

mines  may  happen  to  me,  or  to  any  of  us,  tomorrer. 
An'  we  have  given  our  mite  as  he  would  have  given 
his,  if  one  of  us  had  been  in  his  place  an'  he  in 


ours." 


He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  rude  eloquence  which 
affected  us  all.  Ike  tried  vainly  to  say  something, 
and  poor  Alice !  She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes  and  for  the  first  time  her  fortitude  seemed 
to  desert  her. 

"We're  a  rough  lot,  us  miners  here  in  the  moun- 
tains; an'  p'r'aps  it  is  jest  as  well  not  to  look  too 
close  into  our  lives  at  all  times.  But  in  a  case  of 
this  kind  we  know  our  duty  to  each  other  an' 
gen'rally  we  do  it.  An'  if  you  run  short,  mind  you, 
jest  let  us  know,  an'  we'll  send  down  another  day's 
work,  if  we  have  to  do  it  on  the  Fou'th  of  July." 

A  round  of  applause  greeted  his  words.  Alice 
arose  and,  taking  the  pan  from  Goodman's  hands, 
said  in  a  broken  voice : 

"We  thank  you,  sir;  and  we  thank  the  generous 
men  who,  with  you,  have  done  this  kind  act.  We 
will  not  pain  you  by  hesitating  or  refusing  to  accept 
that  which  you  have  so  generously  given.  And 
whether  by  its  aid  or  not  we  can  succeed  in  bring- 
ing light  to  my  husband's  eyes,  we  shall  none  the 
less  hold  your  thoughtful  kindness  in  grateful 
memory." 


THE  MILK  PAN  4! 

Ike  had  got  on  his  feet  and  was  again  trying  to 
say  something. 

"Never  mind,  old  feller,"  said  the  Forty-niner, 
"we  all  know  what  you  want  to  say.  Give  us  a 
shake  of  the  hand,  instead."  And,  grabbing  his 
hand  he  gave  it  such  a  grip  as  a  bear  might  have 
done,  while  the  boys  crowded  around  to  offer  their 
congratulations. 

The  contents  of  the  pan  when  cleaned  and 
weighed,  amounted  to  over  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 
The  next  Express  bore  Ike  and  Alice  away  to  the 
Bay  City  and  for  years  I  heard  nothing  of  them. 
Early  in  March,  news  reached  us  of  the  discovery 
of  new  mines  on  the  Scott  River  of  extraordinary 
richness — coarse  chunks  often  found  on  the  surface 
of  the  ground.  The  rush  to  the  Scott  River  began, 
taking  nearly  all  of  us  away,  many  of  us  leaving 
better  claims  than  we  ever  after  owned.  Years 
later  I  saw  one  of  the  wiser  miners  who  had  stayed 
behind  and  from  him  learned  that  Ike  had  so  far 
recovered  his  sight  that  he  was  able  to  walk  about 
anywhere  unaided  and  to  do  some  light  work, 
though  he  could  not  read.  They  had  made  one 
trip  to  the  "Home,"  but  those  they  hoped  to  see 
were  scattered  throughout  the  State  and  it  was  only 
with  the  widow  Grayson  and  her  son  they  could 
talk  over  the  story  of  the  MILK  PAN. 


THE  NEW  LEAF 

"Take  another  nip,  Jack,  before  you  go." 

It  was  "Poker  Jim"  who  extended  the  invitation 
and  his  words  were  addressed  to  "Whisky  Jack." 

"I  don't  mind  if  I  do,  Jim,"  said  Jack,  as  he 
staggered  to  the  bar.  "It's  the  last,  though,  for  a 
year.  I  turn  over  a  new  leaf  tomorrow.  I  don't 
want  you  fellers  to  ask  me  to  drink  again,  after  to- 
night. Tomorrow  is  the  beginning  of  the  New 
Year,  and  I  am  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf." 

It  was  rather  pleasant  to  hear  Jack  say  that  he 
was  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  For  the  leaf  of 
the  past  year  and  the  leaves  of  too,  too  many  pre- 
vious years  were  so  blackened  and  blotted  and 
smeared  and  blurred,  that  even  the  most  hardened 
one  could  find  no  pleasure  in  turning  over  the 
pages.  Hence,  it  was  pleasant  to  know  that  Jack 
was  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf — in  other  words, 
lead  a  different  life  from  the  one  he  had  been  lead- 
ing. The  worst  of  the  matter  was  the  fear  that 
Jack  would  not  stick  to  his  good  resolution  but  fall 
back  into  the  old  rut  after  a  struggle  which  never 
lasted  over  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  generally  ended 
in  that  many  days.  "It's  my  last  drink  for  a  year," 


44  THE  NEW  LEAF 

continued  Jack,  as  he  poured  into  the  glass  a  goodly 
portion  of  the  liquor,  his  fondness  for  which  had 
given  him  his  sobriquet  of  "Whisky  Jack."  "Yes," 
he  continued,  in  maudlin  tones,  "I've  done  the 
worst  tonight  I  ever — hie — did,  an'  I'm  going  to 
quit  for  a  year." 

"What  have  you  done  so  bad  tonight,  Jack?" 
asked  the  bartender  with  a  grin  on  his  face. 

"Done,"  repeated  Jack.  "Spent  every  cent  on 
whisky  an'  poker,  I  had.  That  I've  done  many  a 
time,  but  t-night's  too  tough.  It  was  money  Agnes 
made  by  washing,  and  the  children  panned  out 
along  the  gulch.  She  gave  it  to  me  as  I  came  away, 
to  buy  some  little  traps  for  the  children  for  tomor- 
row, as  they  had  nothing  for  Christmas,  and  now 
the  last  cent  is  gone." 

"Is  that  a  fact,  Jack?"  asked  Poker  Jim. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  fact,  and  that's  why  I  say  this  time's 
too  tough."  He  fumbled  in  the  breast  pocket  of 
his  gray  shirt  and  laid  a  rumpled  paper  on  the  bar. 
"There's  a  list  of  the  things  I  was  to  get;  I  have 
not  one  of  them." 

"Won't  you  catch  it,  Jack,  when  you  get  home?" 

"Catch  it?"  said  Jack,  with  an  effort  at  drunken 
dignity.  "Catch  it?"  he  repeated.  "Ah,  if  I  only 
did  catch  it !  If  I  caught  it  a  hundred  times !  If  I 
caught  it  a  thousand  times,  I  would  feel  better  over 
it  than  to  be  met  with  the  patient  look  which  greets 


THE  NEW  LEAF  45 

me  every  time  I  go  wrong.  I've  read  of  the  men 
who  went  crazy  and  who  cut  their  throats  to  escape 
the  nagging  of  a  woman's  tongue.  But  if  I  should 
catch  it  I'll  feel  a  mighty  sight  better,  for  I  would 
know  it  was  deserved." 

The  company  looked  significantly  at  one  an- 
other, and  Shorty  Black  observed  to  the  man  next 
him,  that  ujack  wasn't  so  full  but  he  knew  how  to 
talk  sense." 

"But  that's  neither  here  nor  there,"  continued 
Jack,  returning  to  the  maudlin  strain.  "Not  one 
of  these  things — hie — will  I  take  with  me.  Let's 
see.  Stockings  for  baby.  Bbots  for  Johnnie.  Doll  for 
Carrie.  Four  pounds  of  sugar.  Pound  of  raisins 
for,  for — I  can't  make  it  out.  Who's  it  for, 
Tom?" 

"Pudding,  I  guess,"  said  the  barkeeper,  taking 
the  paper  from  John's  hand.  "But  there's  no  use, 
Jack,  in  crying  over  spilt  milk.  You're  going  to 
turn  over  a  new  leaf  tomorrow,  ain't  he,  Jim?" 

"That's  what  he  says,"  answered  Poker  Jim, 

"and  d if  I  don't  try  and  help  him.  Come, 

Jack,  it's  getting  late  and  my  way  is  the  same  as 
your'n,  as  far  as  the  branch,  you  know.  Sit  down 
a  few  minutes  and  we'll  go  home." 

"Yes;  got  all  my  money,  and  that's  all  you  want 
of  me,"  growled  Jack.  But  he  suffered  himself  to 
be  led  unresistingly  to  a  chair  where  he  soon  fell 


46  THE  NEW  LEAF 

into  a  drowsy  stupor,  from  which  he  was  only 
awakened  by  Poker  Jim,  who  told  him  it  was  time 
for  them  to  go. 

The  keen  December  air  which  greeted  them  as 
they  passed  the  threshold,  did  more  to  restore  him 
to  himself  than  his  hour  of  sodden  sleep  had  done. 
By  the  time  they  reached  the  "branch"  and  crossed 
it  on  the  foot-log  bridge,  John  had  so  far  recov- 
ered his  sobriety  as  to  be  left  safely  to  make  his  way 
home  alone,  which  he  did.  A  short  distance  far- 
ther he  came  to  a  dilapidated  gate,  which  he  opened 
and  passed  through  the  little  field  to  which  the  gate 
had  afforded  entrance,  made  his  way  toward  the 
house  in  the  back,  from  one  of  whose  windows  a 
dim  light  shone  on  the  path  he  traveled.  It  was 
his  own  house,  and  reaching  the  door  he  opened  it 
and  entered  at  once. 

The  light  was  given  by  a  single  candle  which  sat 
upon  the  table  of  what,  in  their  prosperous  days 
had  been  their  "best  room."  It  was  their  best 
room  yet,  so  far  as  that  was  concerned,  but  it  had 
little  of  the  appearance  it  bore  when  John  and 
Agnes  Chambers  sat  in  it  during  the  first  two  or 
three  years  of  their  wedded  life.  The  piano  had 
long  since  gone  to  satisfy  the  importunities  of  an 
unyielding  creditor,  other  articles  of  furniture  had 
been  parted  with,  one  by  one,  until  there  was  but 
little  left  but  the  bare  walls.  But,  fortunately, 


THE  NEW  LEAF  47 

John,  in  one  of  his  more  provident  moments  had 
declared  a  homestead  upon  the  patch  of  fertile  land 
upon  which  the  house  was  situated,  and  this  Agnes 
Chambers  refused  to  let  be  sold.  Gentle  and  will- 
ing in  all  things  else,  to  that  proposition  she  always 
turned  a  deaf  ear. 

She  was  sitting  by  the  little  table  as  he  entered 
with  an  eager,  expectant  look  upon  her  face,  which 
gave  place  to  one  of  bitter  disappointment  when 
she  saw  that  he  came  empty-handed,  and  in  such 
condition. 

"You  are  late,  John,"  she  said,  trying  to  speak 
cheerfully. 

"Late,  Agnes,  and  that  ain't  the  worst  of  it.  I've 
made  a  fool  of  myself  tonight,  again.  But  I  am 
determined  it  shall  happen  no  more." 

"You  have  told  me  that  often,  John,"  said 
Agnes,  sorrowfully.  "And  once  I  believed  you." 

Still  patient  under  her  load  of  trouble.  Oh,  hus- 
bands and  wives!  The  happiness  of  married  life 
comes  from  mutual  concessions;  from  a  perhaps 
constant  restraint  of  the  disposition  to  criticise. 
We  are  only  human,  and  humanity  is  not  free  from 
faults.  Let  us  remember  that  "A  soft  answer  turn- 
eth  away  wrath,  but  grievous  words  stir  up  conten- 
tions." Yet  it  sometimes  happens  that  patience  ir 
long,  too  long,  suffering. 


48  THE  NEW  LEAF 

"And  you  don't  believe  me  now,  do  you,  Ag.  ?" 

"I  wish  I  could  say  I  do,  John.  But "  and 

she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  "I  still  hope,  John. 
I  was  to  blame;  I  should  have  gone  myself.  I 
should  not  have  placed  you  in  the  way  of  tempta- 
tion." 

Wise  little  woman,  you  spoke  more  wisely  than 
perhaps  you  knew.  Did  you  get  your  inspiration 
for  those  last  words  from  the  wrords  of  prayer  you 
were  taught  to  lisp  in  infancy.  Our  Savior  said, 
"Lead  us  not  into  temptation,"  and  the  two  lids  of 
the  Bible  contain  nothing  more  fraught  with  mean- 
ing. How  many  are  there  of  those  men  who  hold 
their  heads  high,  rejoicing  in  the  confidence  the 
world  holds  in  their  integrity,  who  might  have 
fallen,  had  they  but  been  exposed  to  the  tempta- 
tions which  beset  their  less  fortunate  fellow  man. 
How  many  of  the  gentler  sex,  who  turn  with  loath- 
ing and  scorn  from  the  sight  of  an  erring  sister, 
who  pause  to  think  that  they  were  not  exposed  to 
the  same  temptation,  and  thank  God's  mercy  for  it. 

The  warmth  of  the  room  began  by  this  time  to 
counteract  the  previous  good  effect  of  the  crisp  out- 
side air,  and  none  could  be  quicker  to  detect  its  ac- 
tion than  Agnes.  Rising  from  her  seat  she  took  his 
arm  and  led  him  unresisting  toward  his  bed.  "We'll 
talk  of  this  tomorrow,  husband,"  was  all  she  said, 


THE  NEW  LEAF  49 

and  in  a  few  moments  Jack  was  oblivious  to  new 
leaves,  temptations  and  all  other  mundane  things. 

When  Jack  awoke  he  lay  for  some  time  trying  to 
recall  what  had  happened  the  night  before.  Gradu- 
ally it  came  to  him — his  start  to  "town,"  as  the 
little  cluster  of  houses  at  "The  Forks"  was  called, 
the  game  of  poker  and  its  results.  He  had  but  lit- 
tle remembrance  of  the  vow  he  had  registered,  but 
was  in  just  that  repentant  frame  of  mind  to  regis- 
ter one  now.  But,  unfortunately,  these  good  reso- 
lutions, when  made  while  recovering  from  the  evil 
consequences  of  a  big  spree,  or  while  smarting  un- 
der the  losses  just  sustained  at  the  gaming  table, 
seldom  amount  to  much.  When  all  the  bad  conse- 
quences of  the  spree  have  passed  away,  the  poor 
wretch  thinks  he  can  now  take  just  one  drink  and 
stop,  and  if  he  thinks  of  his  depleted  purse  since  the 
last  gambling  scrape,  it  gradually  develops  into  a 
desire  to  try  the  game  once  more  and  if  he  can  get 
"even"  then  quit  for  good.  And  in  either  case  it 
generally  works  him  back  into  the  old  rut. 

The  house  was  so  preturnaturally  still  that  Jack 
wondered.  Generally,  if  Agnes  was  not  stirring, 
some  one  of  the  five  children  was,  but  now  all  was 
silent.  He  raised  up  in  bed  and  saw  that  his  boots 
alone  had  been  taken  off  before  retiring  but  that 
was  no  unusual  occurrence,  and  in  fact,  made  the 
operation  of  dressing  much  easier. 


50  THE  NEW  LEAF 

Jack  arose  unsteadily,  put  on  his  boots  and 
started  to  find  out  why  no  one  was  stirring  at  this 
late  hour.  His  boots  clanking  on  the  bare  floors  as 
he  went  from  room  to  room,  was  the  only  sound 
which  fell  upon  his  ear.  From  one  room  to  an- 
other he  went,  but  no  sign  of  life  greeted  his  vis- 
ion. His  wife  and  children  were  gone. 

"She  has  left  me  1"  moaned  Jack,  throwing  him- 
self into  the  last  rocking  chair  left.  "Left  me  and 
taken  the  children  with  her!  I  can't  blame  her, 
but  I  must  have  her  back,  and  I'll  do  better.  If  I 
can  only  get  to  talk  with  her,  I  know  she'll  come. 
Now  for  a  little  breakfast  and  away  I'll  go." 

The  "little  breakfast,"  however,  was  a  thing 
more  easily  talked  of  than  obtained.  Not  a  scrap 
of  food  of  any  kind  could  be  found  in  the  house. 
The  flour  barrel  had  been  scraped  and  shook  until 
not  even  a  dust  remained  and  Jack  put  on  his  hat 
and  started  for  the  store  at  The  Forks  to  get  some 
hard  bread  and  coffee. 

The  sound  of  voices  fell  upon  his  ears  as  he 
reached  the  foot-log  at  the  Branch,  and  stepping 
aside  a  little  from  the  path  he  saw  Poker  Jim  and 
his  partners  repairing  an  old  reservoir.  He  thought 
that  perhaps  he  could  get  breakfast  at  their  cabin, 
so  he  went  to  where  they  were  working.  But  to 
his  greeting  of  "Good  morning,"  none  of  them 
paid  any  attention.  Thinking  he  had  not  been 


THE  NEW  LEAF  51 

heard,  he  repeated  it  with  no  better  success,  indeed, 
they  all  seemed  so  oblivious  of  his  presence  that 
one  who  was  using  a  handspike  came  near  knock- 
ing him  over  with  it  while  at  work. 

John  walked  moodily  down  to  the  store  at  The 
Forks,  and  entered.  It  looked  very  much  the  same 
as  it  had  when  he  entered  it  the  evening  before, 
except  that  at  that  early  hour  of  the  day  the  idlers 
were  few.  The  barkeeper  of  the  night  before  was 
the  storekeeper  of  today,  for  then,  as  in  many 
places  now,  your  country  store  could  supply  every- 
thing needed  for  the  miner's  daily  use,  and 
whisky  was  deemed  an  essential,  both  by  the  bot- 
tle and  the  glass.  John  stepped  up  to  where  he 
was  standing,  asked  him  to  weigh  him  a  few  pounds 
of  hard  bread  and  give  him  some  ground  coffee 
besides.  But  to  his  surprise  he  got  no  answer. 

"Hard  bread,  crackers,  anything  of  that  kind," 
said  John,  reaching  over  the  counter  to  be  nearer 
the  storekeeper.  But  he  got  no  answer  again. 

"Well,  this  is  tough,"  said  John  to  himself  as  he 
turned  away.  "They've  got  all  my  money,  and 
last  night  they  got  all  that  Agnes  and  the  boys 
earned,  and  now  I  am  not  worth  even  refusing.  I 
wish  old  Smiley  were  keeping  store  here  now." 
And  John  walked  out  of  the  door  to  find  materials 
for  breakfast  in  some  other  quarter. 


52  THE  NEW  LEAF 

The  Smiley,  whose  presence  John  had  so  de- 
voutly wished  for,  was  an  old  gentleman  who 
opened  the  first  store  at  The  Forks.  It  was  a  little 
log  affair  with  a  clapboard  addition  wherein  the 
proprietor  boarded  himself.  Smiley  made  lots  of 
money  in  that  log  store,  which  kept  all  the  essen- 
tials of  mining  life  as  well  as  its  more  pretentious 
after  neighbors  did.  But  with  the  diminution  of 
profits  caused  by  competition,  Smiley  sold  out  his 
stock  and  sought  new  fields.  Report  said  he  had 
been  killed  afterward  by  Indians  in  Arizona,  but 
nothing  authentic  was  heard. 

Great,  therefore,  was  John's  astonishment  when 
on  stepping  out  of  the  door  he  saw  Smiley's  old 
store  in  apparently  full  blast.  Empty  boxes  and 
barrels  were  ranged  outside,  where  the  old-time 
loungers  were  wont  to  congregate  and  swap  lies 
about  their  "diggings,"  the  old  grindstone,  on 
which  he  had  so  often  sharpened  his  axe  was  in  its 
usual  place,  and  even  old  "Sus"  the  pack  mule, 
stood  before  the  door  with  aparejo  on,  evidently 
being  prepared  for  a  trip  up  the  canyon.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  his  eyes,  but  greater  still  was  his 
surprise,  when,  on  crossing  the  street,  who  should 
he  see  but  old  Smiley  himself. 

uWhy,  Tom,"  he  gasped,  uwho  would  have 
thought  of  seeing  you  here.  I  was  just  wishing 
you  were  back  among  us." 


THE  NEW  LEAF  53 

uAnd  here  I  am,"  responded  Tom,  "now  what 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

"I  want  a  little  grub,  and  haven't  a  cent  to  pay 
for  it." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Chambers,  what  do  you  wish? 
You  were  a  very  good  customer  of  mine  years  ago, 
and  the  time  has  come  now  for  me  to  remember  it. 
We  are  now  helping  each  other." 

John  (as  we  prefer  to  call  him  now)  indicated 
his  desires,  and,  in  a  few  moments  was  on  his  way 
back  with  provisions  enough  to  last  him  several 
days.  After  his  rebuff  by  Poker  Jim's  crowd  in 
the  morning,  he  did  not  care  to  go  near  to  them 
again,  but  soon  after  passing  the  path  which  turned 
off  to  their  claim  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  pick  be- 
low the  trail  and  wondered,  who,  besides  himself 
was  compelled  to  work  New  Year's  Day,  except 
upon  a  work  of  necessity,  such  as  putting  in  the  re- 
pairs to  the  reservoir  was.  His  curiosity  in  that 
line  was  so  great  that  he  laid  down  his  burden  and 
went  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  If  his  wonder 
was  excited  when  he  saw  Smiley's  store  in  full  blast 
at  The  Forks,  it  was  tenfold  more  so  when  he  saw 
who  it  was  that  was  using  the  pick. 

"Why,  Job,  can  I  believe  my  eyes?  I  thought 
you  were  buried  six  months  ago." 

Job  grinned  a  ghastly  grin.  "That's  what  was 
done,  Jack,  you  helped  bury  me  then,  as  some  of 


54  THE  NEW  LEAF 

the  other  fellows  will  help  bury  you  tomorrow. 
Unless  they  conclude  to  chuck  you  into  the  ground 
today." 

Jack  could  hardly  keep  his  breath.  "What  are 
you  talking  of,  Job.  Men  ain't  buried  until  they're 
dead." 

"That's  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Jack,"  an- 
swered Jake,  with  another  ghastly  grin.  "I  came 
by  Poker  Jim's  cabin  this  morning  and  heard  them 
talking.  They  said  you  died  last  night." 

"Did  Poker  Jim's  crowd  talk  to  you?" 

"Talk!  They  could  neither  see  nor  hear  me, 
though  I  could  both  see  and  hear  them." 

Jack  still  looked  unconvinced,  so  Job  felt  it  his 
duty  to  enlighten  him  farther. 

"I  didn't  believe  in  purgatory,  Jack,  when  you 
and  I  played  draw-poker  together,  but  we're  in  it 
now,  or  something  like  it.  We've  got  to  stay  here 
till  we  pay  all  the  old  grub  bill  we  owed,  that  we 
could  have  paid  if  we  hadn't  drank  so  much  whisky 
and  played  poker  and  seven-up." 

"Then  what's  old  Smiley  doing  here?  He  didn't 
play  poker." 

"That's  the  only  redeeming  feature  in  the  whole 
business,"  said  Job,  with  another  grin.  "Smiley 
got  our  money  that  we  spent  for  poker  and  the 
like,  and  he's  got  to  stay  here  till  he  makes  it  all 
up  by  honest  trade.  But  be  off  with  you ;  I  don't 


THE  NEW  LEAF  55 

care  about  staying  in  this  fix  longer  than  I  can 
help." 

And  Job  turned  away  and  began  digging  at  the 
bank  again. 

John  made  his  way  homeward  without  further 
adventure.  There  he  discussed  a  dinner  of  the 
provisions  he  brought  from  Smiley's  store,  and 
then,  concluding  that  if  he  was  dead  (and  he  now 
believed  himself  to  be),  there  was  no  use  looking 
for  Agnes  and  the  babies  now,  he  went  to  the  place 
where  he  had  done  his  last  work.  Then  he  re- 
flected that  if  those  diggings  did  not  pay  any  bet- 
ter than  they  had  done  in  life,  it  would  take  him  an 
eternity  to  work  out  the  delinquent  grub  bills,  so 
shouldered  his  pick  and  shovel  and  started  out  to 
prospect. 

Days  were  passed  and  no  diggings.  Once  or 
twice  he  had  seen  and  talked  with  Job,  but  that  in- 
dividual, having  nearly  completed  his  task,  was 
too  eagerly  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  he 
should  make  a  change  from  his  present  condition, 
to  one  better — or  worse,  as  the  case  might  be,  and 
not  disposed  to  be  unduly  sociable.  How  much 
longer  John  would  have  continued  on  in  the  peri- 
patetic course  which  seemed  to  have  no  ending,  we 
cannot  imagine,  if  a  lucky  thought  had  not  come 
to  him.  He  remembered  what  Agnes  had  told  him 
of  the  children  "panning  out"  at  some  place,  and  as 


56  THE  NEW  LEAF 

they  were  gone  from  him  forever,  he  resolved  to 
find  the  place  if  he  could.  Peering  along  the 
creek  bank  under  the  garden  fence  he  saw  a  spot 
where  recently  work  had  been  done,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment he  was  bailing  out  the  prospect  hole  and 
looking  eagerly  for  any  colors  which  would  show 
themselves  as  the  water  was  lowered,  in  case  the 
ground  was  good.  And  goodly  was  the  sight  that 
met  his  eyes.  Small  colors  showed  themselves 
throughout  the  depth  of  the  bank  of  gravel,  while 
in  the  corner  toward  the  house,  the  receding  waters 
had  washed  bare  several  inches  of  the  end  of  a 
goodly  specimen.  Dropping  his  bucket  he  grabbed 
for  it,  but,  alas,  it  slipped  out  of  its  place  and 
sprung  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  hole.  He  turned 
and  reached  for  it  again  with  no  better  success,  for 
it  slipped  from  under  his  hand  as  easily  as  a  timid 
cat  can  and  was  back  in  its  place  again  as  before. 
He  reached  for  it  with  both  hands,  lost  his  balance 
— and  found  himself  out  of  bed  and  sprawling  on 
the  floor. 

"Why,  John,  John,"  exclaimed  Agnes.  "What 
in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you  this  morning? 
Here  you've  been  thrashing  around  and  throwing 
your  arms  about  as  if  you  were  fighting  somebody 
in  your  sleep.  I  hope  to  goodness  you  were  not 
quarreling  last  night." 


THE  NEW  LEAF  57 

John  sat  up  on  the  floor  and  looked  stupidly 
around  him.  "You  here,  Agnes,"  he  said,  the  re- 
membrance of  his  dream  still  upon  him.  "I 
thought  you  were  gone." 

"Gone,  John;  where  would  I  go  to.  No,  when 
I  said  'so  long  as  we  both  shall  live,'  I  meant  every 
word.  But,  come  now,  husband,  and  get  your 
breakfast.  George  and  Arthur  have  eaten  theirs 
and  gone  off  with  their  new  knives  to  cut  the  wil- 
lows off  their  claim." 

Just  then  there  was  a  clatter  of  boots  on  the  un- 
carpeted  floor,  and  little  Johnnie  appeared,  full  of 
the  pride  and  dignity  and  making  all  the  noise,  a 
boy  with  his  first  pair  of  boots  can  make.  John 
turned  aghast.  "I  wonder  if  the  whole  dern  thing 
is  a  dream,"  he  thought,  "or  if  I  am  dead,  and  that 
is  the  ghost  of  a  pair  of  boots  I  see?"  But  he  got 
up  and  followed  Agnes  into  the  kitchen. 

"See  my  pretty  doll,  papa,"  cried  the  little  girl. 
"See  what  nice  curls." 

"Who  gave  it  to  you?"  asked  John,  for  want  of 
something  else  to  say. 

"We  thought  it  Santa  Claus,  who  forgot  us 
Christmas,  but  Mamma  told  us  you  were  Santa 
Claus.  Thank  you  so  much,  papa." 

John  turned  a  bewildering  look  upon  his  wife. 
"I  thought  it  was  cruel  in  you  John,  to  deceive  me 


58  THE  NEW  LEAF 

so,  but  now  I  see  you  were  too  much  in  liquor  to 
know  what  you  were  saying,"  she  said,  in  response. 

"This  is  all  a  riddle  to  me,"  cried  John.  "What 
was  I  cruel  about?" 

"Telling  me  you  had  spent  all  the  money  gam- 
bling again,  and  brought  nothing  home  for  that  rea- 
son. And  when  Mr.  Noble  came  and  brought  all 
the  things,  and  told  me  you  had  forgotten  them, 
and  as  he  thought  I  would  want  them  for  today  he 
had  brought 

"Noble?  What  Jim  Noble;  Poker  Jim?  Do 
you  tell  me  he  came  here  last  night?" 

"He  did  and  brought  with  him  everything  I 
sent  for,  and  some  walnuts  for  the  children, 
besides,  in  this  basket.  And  I  declare,  here  is  the  list 
I  gave  you ;  and  the  bill  and  two  dollars  change  out 
of  the  dust.  And  here's  a  note  for  you,  John." 

John  took  the  note  and  walked  to  the  window 
for  better  light  to  read  it.  It  was  short,  but  to  the 
point : 

Keep  your  good  intention,  Chambers.    We'll  all  help  you. 

JAMES  NOBLE. 

"They're  better  men  than  I  am,  Agnes,  if  they 
are  gamblers.  I  told  the  truth.  I  had  spent  every 
cent  and  they  have  given  it  back  to  you,  in  the  shape 
of  what  you  sent  me  for.  Now  hear  me,  Agnes. 
I've  now  quit  gambling  not  for  a  month,  nor  a 


THE  NEW  LEAF  59 

year,  but  forever.  And  no  liquor  ever  passes  my 
lips  again  until  I  know  that  I  am  my  own  master. 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  a  moment  after, 
with  her  head  pillowed  on  his  bosom,  she  said,  be- 
tween her  joyous  sobs:  "I  believe  you  again, 
John." 

This  all  happened  many  years  ago,  and  in  the 
light  of  after  years  we  can  truthfully  say  that  John 
kept  his  word  religiously.  For  a  time  he  had  a 
struggle  both  with  temptation  and  poverty,  but  he 
stood  up  bravely  against  both.  It  pleases  us  to 
add,  that  one  day  after  thinking  of  his  dream  he 
went  down  to  the  place  where  the  boys  had  been 
panning  and  his  practiced  eye  told  him  that  the  lit- 
tle fellows  had  unwittingly  stumbled  on  the  lost 
lead  of  Bear  Gulch  and  that  it  probably  ran  right 
under  his  house.  Agnes  had  refused  to  part  with 
the  homestead,  but  when  she  saw  the  use  the  money 
would  be  put  to,  she  raised  no  objections  to  its  be- 
ing washed  away.  With  the  proceeds  realized  they 
soon  wiped  out  the  delinquent  grub  bills  (which, 
thanks  to  Agnes'  prudence  were  not  heavy), 
which  had  been  such  a  bugbear  to  John  ever  since 
his  famous  dream,  and  in  time  got  a  better  home  in 
a  part  of  the  country  where  John's  shortcomings 
were  unknown. 

John  and  Agnes  are  now  a  comfortable  old 
couple,  though  as  usual,  the  children  have  grown 


60  THE  NEW  LEAF 

and  gone  out  into  the  world  to  build  up  homes  for 
themselves.  They  are  all  good  children,  though  1 
think  George  would  have  gone  into  a  bad  way  if  his 
father  had  not  told  him  how  things  were  going  or 
at  home  once  before  he  turned  the  new  leaf. 


THE   THANKSGIVING 
DINNER 

The  winter  of  1850-5 1  had  been  a  dry  one.  Not 
that  there  was  then  the  need  of  great  ditches  and 
reservoirs  as  now,  but  the  experience  of  the  year  pre- 
vious had  led  the  miners  to  expect  that  the  flood- 
gates of  heaven  would  again  be  opened,  and  they 
made  their  preparations  accordingly.  Not  much 
water  was  required  to  wash  the  dirt  shoveled  into  a 
"long  torn,"  and  still  less  when  the  more  primitive 
rocker  was  used.  But  the  expectations  of  the 
miners  has  been  wrought  up  to  the  belief  that  when 
winter  fairly  set  in,  the  streams  to  which  they  re- 
sorted for  summer  diggings  would  be  kept  swollen 
by  the  floods  of  winter  and  that  they  must  change 
base  for  the  little  ravines  of  the  mountains.  The 
" Forty-niners"  were  all  going  to  do  so,  and  the 
new-comers  thought  they  could  not  go  amiss  if 
they  followed  the  example  set  by  such  high  author- 
ity. Therefore  when  the  frosty  nights  and  gather- 
ing clouds  began  to  foretell  the  approach  of  the 
"rainy  season,"  there  was  a  general  breakup  of  the 
summer  camps  to  prepare  for  winter  diggings. 


62  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

The  amount  of  preparation  deemed  necessary 
for  weathering  the  winter  through  was  very  limited. 
Pine  logs  for  the  cabin  were  to  be  had  for  the  cut- 
ting, red  mud  to  "chink"  the  interstices  was  under 
our  feet,  and  the  branching  sugar  pines  furnished 
"shakes"  readily  to  the  hand  even  of  the  unskilled 
"river."  But  the  winter  for  which  preparation  was 
made  and  whose  advent  was  so  longingly  desired, 
did  not  come.  December,  January  and  February 
passed,  but  the  sun  rode  in  a  cloudless  sky,  or  the 
few  clouds  which  occasionally  gathered  and  threat- 
ened refused  to  part  with  their  moisture.  On  each 
little  ravine  where  gold  had  been  found  by  pros- 
pecting, piles  of  dry  dirt,  thrown  up  by  the  toilers, 
awaited  the  rainfall  before  its  golden  treasures 
could  be  set  free.  But  it  was  not  until  winter  had 
fairly  passed  and  March  appeared  that  storms  great 
enough  to  start  the  gulches  came.  By  which  time 
thousands  of  the  waiting  miners  had  left  the  "dry 
diggings"  in  disgust,  leaving  their  piles  of  rich  earth 
to  be  washed  up  by  whoever  chose.  We  have  had 
dry  winters  since,  but  none  have  been  so  complete  a 
failure  as  that  of  1850-51. 

The  miners  scattered  in  search  of  other  gold- 
fields,  some  to  one  part  and  some  to  others.  Scott 
River  drew  men  from  the  far  southern  counties 
with  its  stories  of  fabulous  riches.  Gold  Bluff  and 
other  distant  localities  led  others  away — for  it  was 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  63 

a  peculiarity  of  the  honest  miner  of  the  early  day 
that  a  report  concerning  rich,  new  diggings  was 
entitled  to  credence  just  in  proportion  to  its  distance 
away.  The  idea  of  changing  places  of  abode  and 
going  only  a  few  miles  was  a  thing  not  to  be  tol- 
erated. However,  we  were  not  so  badly  affected  as 
were  our  neighbors,  as  we  had  claims  which  held  us 
for  awhile.  But  our  time  came,  too,  in  its  due 
season.  Reports  came  of  the  discovery  of  a  new 
camp,  where  both  gold  and  water  were  plenty.  It 
had  been  found  by  the  Indians,  who  had  already 
panned  out  great  sums.  There  was  only  one  bad 
feature  about  the  story,  which  was  that  this  new 
placer  was  situated  at  only  twenty  miles  distance. 
However,  we  could  go  there  in  one  day  and  back 
the  next,  so  we  borrowed  a  couple  of  caballos  and 
away  we  went. 

We  found  the  picture  had  been  a  little  overdrawn 
in  reference  to  the  abundance  of  water,  but  it  was 
otherwise  substantially  correct.  Scores  of  Indians 
were  there  with  knives,  scrapers  and  pans  digging 
the  soft  bedrock  in  the  shallow  gulches,  and  each 
with  from  an  ounce  to  a  pound  of  gold-dust  tied  up 
in  little  rags.  We  gave  the  place  the  name  of  In- 
dian Diggings,  and  if  we  mistake  not  it  retains  that 
cognomen  till  this  day.  There  was  only  the  water 
from  springs  to  wash  with  and  the  springs  were 
rapidly  failing;  but  such  mines  would  pay  to  hold 


64  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

on  to.  It  is  needless  for  me  to  add  that  the  new 
camp  was  quickly  populated  by  miners,  some  of 
whom  came  from  points  hundreds  of  miles  away, 
and  that  all  the  available  ground  was  taken  up. 
The  Indians  were  summarily  driven  off;  then,  as 
now,  an  Indian  had  no  rights  which  one  of  the  Cau- 
casian race  felt  bound  to  respect.  It  was  done  with- 
out any  trouble;  perhaps  if  the  water  in  the  springs 
had  not  been  failing  so  rapidly,  it  might  not  have 
been  accomplished  without  some  bloodshed. 

As  nothing  much  could  be  done  during  the  sum- 
mer months,  we  divided  our  party;  some  remaining 
to  look  out  for  the  claims,  while  the  others  went 
down  to  the  Consumnes  River  to  turn  the  bed  of 
that  stream  and  put  in  the  summer.  I  was  one  of 
those  who  stayed  at  the  Indian  Diggings.  Before 
dividing  our  forces,  we  rolled  up  the  logs  of  a  cabin, 
which  it  was  to  be  a  part  of  my  business  to  finish  up 
and  get  in  readiness  for  the  next  winter.  We  built 
it  on  a  litle  flat  close  to  one  of  the  live  springs, 
amidst  a  grove  of  tall,  slender  spruce  whose  boughs 
locked  and  interlaced  far  above.  We  knew  that  we 
would  have  to  watch  the  claims  or  we  would  have 
trouble  when  the  season  for  mining  arrived,  for 
the  fame  of  Indian  Diggings  had  spread  abroad, 
and  the  arrival  and  departure  of  bands  of  prospect- 
ing miners  was  a  thing  of  daily  occurrence;  and 
although  but  little  of  real  work  could  be  done, 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  65 

others  were  making  similar  preparations.  Brought 
together  from  so  many  different  quarters,  those  who 
had  secured  claims  and  were  holding  them  knew 
little  of  each  other  as  yet,  but  with  that  spirit  of 
frankness  so  general  among  the  toilers  of  that  early 
day,  we  were  soon  upon  terms  of  acquaintance  with 
most  of  those  around  us.  Water  to  work  with  there 
was  none,  but  every  company  was  doing  more  or  less 
prospecting,  and  from  the  occasional  pans  of  dirt 
brought  to  the  spring  or  taken  to  the  little  creek  and 
washed,  we  felt  assured  that  our  camp  would  be 
a  good  one  when  the  winter  rains  should  fairly  set 
in.  Among  the  arrivals  which  succeeded  ours  was 
one  which,  after  a  time,  excited  my  curiosity.  He 
was  a  young  man,  as  indeed  were  the  majority  of 
those  present,  but  though  he  watched  keenly  the 
various  prospecting  companies  and  seemed  desirous 
of  knowing  what  their  success  was,  he  made  no 
effort  to  obtain  a  claim  for  himself.  This  surprised 
us  the  more,  as  from  some  words  he  dropped  while 
at  our  camp,  we  knew  that  he  had  been  in  the  mines 
in  '49,  done  well  in  them  and  made  a  visit  to  the 
East.  We  were  choke-full  of  enthusiasm  then  and 
could  not  understand  how  a  man  who  had  made 
money  mining  and  knew  how  to  mine  would  ever 
want  to  do  anything  else.  We  finally  concluded 
him  to  be  a  gambler,  waiting  only  until  the  boys 


66  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

got  "flush,"  to  ply  his  vocation — in  which  wise  we 
were  mistaken. 

Armfield,  for  such  was  his  name,  remained  at  the 
camp  for  a  week  or  ten  days,  then  went  away  as  un- 
expectedly as  he  came.  I  thought  that  was  the 
last  we  would  see  of  him,  but  was  mistaken 
again.  He  was  gone  a  week  or  so  when, 
coming  home  from  the  claim  one  evening, 
the  sight  of  a  new  white  tent  greeted  me. 
When  I  had  cooked  and  eaten  supper  the  proprietor 
of  the  tent  came  over  and  it  proved  to  be  Armfield. 
He  had  been  to  Sacramento  in  the  meanwhile,  after 
some  tools,  he  told  me.  He  said  that  he  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  Indian  Diggings  would  be  a 
pretty  lively  camp  for  some  years,  and  he  thought 
of  building  a  boarding  house.  Would  I  care  if  it 
were  built  near  us.  I  put  his  mind  at  ease  on  that 
point  and  we  separated. 

Armfield  was  up  with  the  sun  and  showed  that 
he  was  no  laggard  as  far  as  work  was  concerned. 
There  were  plenty  of  sugar  pines  close  at  hand,  and, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  couple  of  idle  miners,  it  was 
not  long  before  the  establishment  began  to  assume 
shape.  In  the  meantime  a  great  intimacy  had 
grown  up  between  Armfield  and  myself,  brought 
about  by  a  sort  of  clannish  feeling  much  more  com- 
mon in  the  early  days  of  the  mines  than  now.  We 
found  that  we  came  from  the  same  State  to  this, 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  67 

and  that  of  itself  was  a  passport  to  each  other's 
friendship.  To  meet  a  man  from  one's  own  State, 
though  it  might  be  from  its  most  distant  corner  as 
compared  to  our  own  home,  seemed  like  meeting  a 
neighbor.  Armfield  and  I  were  from  near  the  same 
locality;  we  knew  some  of  the  same  people,  and 
nothing  more  was  needed. 

The  new  house  rapidly  approached  completion, 
and  our  little  cabin  was  overshadowed  by  its  com- 
paratively huge  dimensions.  As  the  finishing 
touches  were  being  put  to  it,  I  noticed  that  Armfield 
had  one  of  the  rooms  fitted  up  with  extra  care,  and 
that  in  the  last  load  from  Sacramento  were  carpets 
and  other  things  that  did  not  go  to  the  ordinary 
make-up  of  a  miner's  boarding  house.  I  rallied 
Armfield  on  his  odd  notion  (as  I  supposed)  and 
asked  him  if  he  expected  to  have  lady  boarders,  that 
he  was  taking  so  much  pains. 

"Not  boarders  exactly,"  said  Armfield.  "I'd 
have  told  you  before,  but  thought  to  take  you  by 
surprise.  That's  to  be  my  wife's  room." 

"Your  wife!"  said  I;  "you  never  mentioned 
that  you  were  married." 

"No  more  I  ain't,"  retorted  Armfield,  "but  that's 
no  sign  I  won't  be.  The  fact  is,  my  girl  is  on  her 
way  here  now;  I  sent  for  her  to  come  before  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  build,  and  I  expect  they  are  coming 
down  the  Humboldt  now.  I  at  first  thought  Fd 


68  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

mine,  but  it's  better  to  have  a  steady  place  to  stop  in, 
so  I  built  this  boarding  house.  They  left  the  Mis- 
souri River  two  months  ago,  and  if  they  have  fair 
luck  they  will  be  here  in  a  week  or  two." 

"Does  she  know  where  to  find  you?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  looked  out  for  that.  Bill  Simpson 
went  out  to  the  'Sink'  to  buy  stock — there's  money 
in  that  speculation — and  he'll  tell  them  right  where 
I  am." 

"Are  her  folks  coming,  too?" 

"No,  none  of  'em.  One  of  the  neighbors  is  mov- 
ing out  with  his  wife,  and  she  thought  she  would 
rather  come  that  way  than  over  the  Isthmus.  Our 
Western  folks,  you  know,  are  a  little  scary  about 
salt  water." 

The  idea  of  settling  down  for  life  in  California 
was  a  novel  one  to  me  then,  as  much  so  as  one  would 
now  be  of  going  anywhere  else.  But  it  was  none  of 
my  kettle  of  fish,  though  I  couldn't  help  wondering 
how  a  woman  would  like  to  rough  it  the  way  one 
would  have  to.  I  had  thus  far  seen  but  one  woman 
in  the  mines. 

The  hot  days  of  summer  were  nearly  gone  when 
the  new  hotel  was  completed  and  ready  for  business. 
It  was  not  the  only  business  house  in  the  Diggings ; 
a  store,  a  saloon  and  another  hotel  were  under  way 
before  many  days.  Though  no  one  was  yet  at  work, 
money  was  plenty  and  business  was  thriving,  for 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  69 

most  of  the  claim  owners  had  either  gold-dust  on 
hand  or  could  easily  obtain  enough  for  all  necessary 
expenses.  So  when  Armfield  invited  the  boys  in 
to  help  "open  the  house,"  there  was  a  goodly  at- 
tendance of  the  red-shirted  gentry,  and  the  bar, 
(that  most  essential  adjunct  of  every  place  where 
business  of  any  kind  was  transacted)  met  with  most 
liberal  patronage.  Scattered  among  the  throng 
were  a  few  fresh  from  "the  States,"  the  advance 
guard  of  the  immigration  that  was  pouring  over 
the  plains,  while  the  fact  that  there  was  to  be  a 
sort  of  "house  warming"  had  drawn  together 
pretty  much  all  the  idlers  in  the  camp.  I  was  assist- 
ing Armfield  on  the  occasion  and  dispensing  the 
fluids  with  a  liberal  hand  while  the  crowd,  not  to  be 
outdone  in  liberality,  was  putting  them  down  as 
fast  as  we  put  them  up. 

There  was  a  break-up  of  the  assemblage  toward 
midnight,  except  of  those  gathered  around  the 
monte-banks,  for  those  institutions  were  sure  of 
patronage  whether  the  mines  were  worked  or  not. 
I  was  about  to  go  home,  when  a  stranger  came  to 
where  I  was  standing,  and,  pointing  to  Armfield, 
asked : 

"How  long  has  he  been  here?" 

"Who,  Armfield  ?"  said  I ;  "Oh !  it's  between  two 
and  three  months." 


70  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

"Armfield?"  repeated  the  stranger;  "is  that 
what  you  call  him?" 

'That's  his  name,"  said  I. 

"Well,  maybe  it  is,  but  he  looks  enough  like 
Bill  Shively  (Missouri  Bill,  we  used  to  call  him  in 
Colusa)  to  pass  for  his  brother." 

"This  is  not  your  man,"  said  I.  "I  knew  this 
man's  folks  by  reputation  back  in  Illinois." 

"Wall,  p'raps  I'm  mistaken,  but  don't  think  it. 
Lemme  have  a  little  whisky." 

I  passed  the  desired  liquid  to  him  and  soon  after 
went  away.  It  was  late  when  I  came  around  next 
day  and  I  found  Armfield  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

"She'll  be  here  in  less  than  a  week,  Joe,"  was  his 
greeting.  "They've  got  to  Ragtown  and  will  stop 
a  day  or  two  to  let  the  animals  rest  a  little.  That 
desert,  you  know,  is  rough  on  stock.  Bill  Simpson 
saw  her  and  told  her  just  what  road  to  take  to  get 
here.  Stood  the  trip  splendid,  you  bet.  Won't  I 
be  fixed,  though?" 

I  gave  him  my  congratulations  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"I'm  thinking,  though,  to  go  over  and  meet  'em 
at  Hangtown.  There's  no  preacher,  or  squire,  or 
anything  of  that  kind  to  splice  us.  Will  you  run 
the  concern  until  I  get  back?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  will." 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  7  I 

"I  thought  you  would,  and  I'll  take  'em  by  sur- 
prise. Let's  see.  They're  about  Red  Lake  tonight 
and  tomorrow  they'll  cross  the  Sierras.  Give  'em 
three  days  more  to  reach  Johnson's  Ranch.  If  I 
start  from  here  Monday  morning  I'll  catch  them 
there,  so  be  ready  for  Monday." 

The  time  would  no  doubt  have  passed  slowly  to 
Armfield  had  he  not  found  so  much  to  do  to  fix  up 
that  room.  There  was  no  end  to  the  ways  in  which 
he  arranged  the  furniture  and  pictures,  and  when  I 
thought  he  could  not  find  anything  more  to  do, 
back  he  would  be,  working  as  busy  as  a  nailer. 
But  it  was  arranged  at  last  even  to  his  satisfaction. 

Sunday  morning  I  was  on  hand  to  take  charge 
of  affairs  while  my  friend  made  his  preparation  for 
the  journey.  It  was  only  twenty  or  twenty-five 
miles  through  the  mountains  to  the  immigrant 
road,  but  the  country  was  innocent  of  anything 
except  pack  trails,  unless  the  traveler  took  the 
wagon  road  towards  Sacramento  until  it  joined  the 
great  thoroughfare  used  by  the  incoming  immi- 
gration. Sunday  in  the  mines  is  always  a  busy  day, 
and  in  the  state  of  society  then  it  was  much  more 
so  than  at  the  present  time.  All  days  were  pretty 
much  alike  to  the  delver  in  the  mountains,  and  i' 
the  Sabbath  was  observed  at  all  it  was  only  by  the 
few  who  had  not  left  the  faith  and  traditions  of 
the  old  homestead  behind  them  with  the  homestead 


72  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

itself.  The  operations  of  the  miner  alone  were  sus- 
pended, all  other  branches  of  business  seemed  to  go 
ahead  with  greater  energy  than  during  the  days  of 
labor.  In  truth  Sunday  was  the  day  of  the  week 
for  the  saloons,  the  hotels  and  the  gambling  houses. 
As  it  was  in  other  places,  so  it  was  in  the  goodly 
mining  town  of  Indian  Diggings. 

Toward  evening,  when  the  lengthening  shadows 
of  the  pines  cast  a  grateful  coolness  over  the 
parched  earth,  a  couple  of  horsemen  rode  slowly 
down  the  hill  and  approached  the  camp.  They 
were  well  mounted,  and  as  they  reined  up  in  front 
of  Armfield's  door  there  was  nothing  in  their  ap- 
pearance to  attract  unusual  observation.  To  the 
inquiries  of  one  as  to  the  chance  for  lodging  and 
a  place  for  their  horses,  I  told  them  they  need  go 
no  further,  and  taking  the  tired  animals  to  a  shed 
which  had  been  hastily  erected  for  such  uses,  I 
gave  them  a  liberal  supply  of  barley  and  went  back 
to  the  house. 

The  strangers  soon  made  themselves  at  home, 
and  engaged  in  conversation  with  some  of  the 
miners.  They  said  nothing  to  either  of  us  in  re- 
gard to  the  business  on  which  they  had  come,  nor 
as  to  their  destination.  Armfield  retired  early,  as 
he  wished  to  take  an  early  start  and  reach  Hang- 
town  by  noon.  I  noticed  that  the  two  newcomers 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  73 

kept  close  watch  of  all  his  movements,  but  thought 
nothing  of  it  at  the  time. 

"Your  partner  leaves  the  night  work  to  you  I 
see,"  said  the  elder  of  them,  soon  after  Armfield 
retired. 

"He  is  not  my  partner,"  I  answered,  "I  am  only 
taking  his  place  for  a  day  or  two,  while  he  is 
away.  He  starts  for  Hangtown  in  the  morning." 

The  strangers  exchanged  glances.  "Why,  that 
is  where  we  were  going,  and  as  he  no  doubt  knows 
the  trail  well,  we  had  better  go  with  him." 

"You  may  have  to  ride  faster  than  you  care  to," 
said  I.  "Where  there  is  a  woman  in  the  case  a 
man  is  not  apt  to  let  his  horse  nibble  much  grass  by 
the  roadside." 

"So  there's  a  woman  in  the  case,  eh?" 

"I  believe  so;  coming  over  the  plains,  and  he'll 
meet  her  there." 

My  communication  seemed  to  have  a  great  effect 
on  the  stranger.  He  walked  uneasily  up  and  down 
the  room  and  wound  up  by  having  a  whispered 
consultation  with  the  man  who  came  with  him. 
He  came  to  me  again. 

"We  may  go  over  and  may  not;  wake  us  up  any- 
way in  time  to  go  with  him." 

I  promised  to  do  so  and  soon  after  the  games 
stopped  and  the  house  was  closed.  When  Armfield 
arose  he  woke  me  up  and  I  told  him  the  request  of 


74  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

the  strangers.  He  went  to  where  they  had  slept 
and  found  them  already  stirring. 

The  cook  had  prepared  an  early  breakfast,  to 
which  Armfield  and  the  strangers  sat  down  while  I 
got  the  horses  ready.  They  finished  the  meal  and 
rising  from  the  table  came  to  where  I  was  and 
asked  for  their  bill.  I  told  them  the  amount  which 
the  one  who  seemed  to  be  spokesman  handed  to  me 
and  then  turned  to  Armfield. 

"I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  your  plans,  my  friend, 
but  you  can't  go  to  Placerville  today." 

"Why  not?"  said  Armfield,  flashing. 

"Because  I  have  a  bench  warrant  for  your  arrest 
from  Yuba  County.  You're  wanted  up  there  to  an- 
swer to  an  indictment." 

"But,"  said  I,  speaking  for  the  first  time,  for  the 
whole  thing  was  so  unexpected,  that  I  hardly  knew 
what  was  being  done.  "Why  not  go  with  him  to 
Hangtown  and  have  him  held  to  answer?  You  are 
not  obliged,  are  you,  to  appear  at  Marysville  at 
once,  if  I  understand  the  matter." 

"The  offense  is  not  bailable,"  said  the  officer, 
significantly. 

Armfield  turned  pale  as  death.  "Am  I  to  under- 
stand that  I  am  charged  with  murder?"  he  asked^ 

"That's  what  the  indictment  says:  For  the 
murder  of  John  Fielding,  committed  in  the  County 
of  Yuba,  in  December,  1849." 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  75 

Armfield  sprang  up  joyfully.  "I  was  more  than 
one  hundred  miles  away  from  Yuba  at  the  time.  I 
never  before  heard  of  the  man  Fielding  that  I 
know  of,  and  know  no  more  about  it  than  a  child." 

"Prove  that,  and  you're  all  right;  but  you  will 
have  to  show  it  to  a  jury,  and  not  to  me.  All  I 
know  is  that  I  have  a  warrant  for  Bill  Shively,  alias 
Charles  Armfield,  and  shall  execute  it  by  taking 
you  to  the  Yuba  jail.  We've  had  track  of  you  two 
or  three  times,  but  lost  it  again.  If  you  ain't  the 
man  I  hope  you'll  get  clear,  and  if  you  are,  you'll 
have  to  swing  for  it.  Now,  if  you've  got  any  busi- 
ness to  fix  up  here  do  it  at  once  and  we  will  be  off." 

There  was  no  such  thing  as  fooling  with  an  offi- 
cer of  the  law  and  nothing  remained  to  be  done  ex- 
cept to  do  as  he  directed.  It  was  evident  to  Arm- 
field  and  myself  that  he  was  being  taken  for  some 
other  person,  and  would  probably  have  to  suffer 
some  annoyance  before  he  could  prove  who  he 
really  was.  He  could  not  escape  the  trip  to  Marys- 
ville ;  that  was  certain.  At  that  place  he  hoped  that 
the  witnesses  would  see  that  the  officers  had  got  on 
the  wrong  track  and  he  would,  of  course,  be  at  once 
set  at  liberty.  So,  after  giving  me  detailed  instruc- 
tions as  to  his  business  affairs  and  a  confidential 
message  to  her  who  had  taken  the  long  and  toil- 
some journey  across  the  continent  to  share  his  for- 
tunes, the  three  went  away  together. 


76  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

The  news  of  Armfield's  mishap  spread  through 
the  camp  and  excited  considerable  sensation.  The 
majority  thought  with  me  that  he  had  been  taken 
for  some  one  else,  but  there  is  always  a  class  in  every 
community  disposed  to  believe  evil  rather  than 
good  of  their  fellows.  But  for  the  girl,  there  was 
but  one  feeling,  that  of  sorrow  at  the  news  which 
would  greet  her  upon  her  advent  in  the  golden 
land.  So,  when  some  four  or  five  days  after  their 
departure  the  white  cover  of  an  immigrant's  wagon 
was  seen  winding  down  the  hill  and  approaching 
the  town,  curiosity  was  on  tiptoe  to  see  the  new- 
comers, and  what  effect  the  tidings  would  have  on 
them.  I  hastened  up  the  road  to  meet  them  as  soon 
as  their  approach  was  made  known  to  me,  but  ill 
news  travels  fast  and  they  already  knew  all. 

"This  is  a  bad  business,  a  bad  business,"  said 
the  immigrant.  "They'll  hang  him,  won't  they?" 

I  questioned  him  and  found  they  had  received 
a  very  exaggerated  account  of  the  affair,  as  I  might 
have  known.  A  story  never  loses  by  being  told  a 
second  time.  I  told  him  how  it  really  was. 

"Well,  that  sounds  better,  but  the  way  we  heard 
it,  it  looked  pretty  black.  But  Hetty,  there,  she 
wouldn't  believe  anything.  She  wanted  to  go  right 
on  to  Marysville  or  wherever  he's  been  taken,  quick 
as  she  heard  it.  The  trust  these  women  have  if 
wonderful  now." 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  77 

I  climbed  into  the  wagon  with  the  family  and 
Hetty  and  delivered  the  message  that  Armfield  had 
given  me.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  she  was  to  take 
possession  of  the  part  of  the  house  he  had  fitted  up 
for  her,  and  have  her  friend's  wife  stay  with  her 
for  company  until  his  return,  which  he  was  confi- 
dent would  be  soon.  I  represented  to  her  that  he 
might  be  already  free  and  it  would  be  nonsense  to 
go  where  he  was  at  the  present  time.  It  was  set- 
tled that  all  should  be  as  he  requested,  and  in  a 
short  time  the  newcomers  were  safely  domiciled 
in  the  hotel. 

In  three  or  four  days  a  letter  came  from  Arm- 
field,  and  matters  began  to  look  serious.  Fielding, 
the  murdered  man,  had  been  a  farmer  and  as  such 
employed  hands  to  help  him,  but  being  of  a  peevish 
disposition  the  men  he  hired  seldom  remained  long 
with  him,  but  as  soon  as  they  earned  a  little  money 
took  it  and  went  on  to  the  mines.  Three  or  four 
days  before  he  was  killed  he  employed  a  passing 
man,  who  gave  the  name  of  Shively.  Shively  was 
seen  by  one  or  two  of  the  neighbors,  but  they 
formed  no  acquaintance  with  him.  One  morning 
Fielding  was  found  in  a  dying  condition,  but  he 
lived  long  enough  to  tell  those  who  found  him  that 
his  new  man  had  struck  him  down,  robbed  and  left 
him  for  dead.  The  search  that  was  made  for 
Shively  was  a  fruitless  one.  Once  he  had  been 


78  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

heard  of  in  a  distant  camp  on  the  headwaters  of  the 
Feather  River;  then  the  report  came  that  he  had 
been  seen  on  a  Panama  steamer,  going  East.  The 
officers  concluded  he  would  escape  their  pursuit, 
and  had  given  it  up,  when  they  heard  again  that  he 
was  at  Indian  Diggings  under  an  assumed  name. 
This  led  to  the  arrest  of  Armfield,  as  I  have  de- 
tailed, and  the  strange  part  of  the  story  was  that 
those  who  had  seen  Shively  during  the  short  time 
he  was  in  Fielding's  employ  positively  identified 
Armfield  as  the  man. 

Hetty  had  received  another  letter  of  similar  im- 
port. I  handed  her  the  one  I  had  received  and  she 
read  it  eagerly.  When  she  had  finished  she  turned 
to  me.  "We  must  go  to  Marysville,"  she  said, 
"Will  you  go?" 

"If  you  wish,  certainly." 

"I  do  wish  it;  you  believe  him  innocent,  do  you 
not?" 

"I  do.  A  man  who  commits  that  crime  and  once 
gets  out  of  the  State  would  hardly  venture  back 
again,  much  less  have  a  wife  come  to  join  him  and 
settle  down." 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  prove 
who  he  is,  these  people  here  knew  him  back  home 
and  there  are  others  who  knew  him  when  a  boy." 

"That's  not  the  point,  though.  Any  man  can 
change  his  name  for  the  time  being  and  that  is  what 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  79 

they  will  claim  he  has  done.  We  will  have  to  find 
the  true  criminal  (which  I  fear  is  a  hopeless  task), 
or  find  the  men  Charley  was  with  at  the  time  the 
crime  was  committed.  The  express  wagon  goes  in 
the  morning  and  will  take  us  to  Sacramento  in  one 
day.  From  there  we  go  on  the  steamboat  and  will 
be  in  Marysville  the  next  afternoon. 

I  need  not  detail  the  incidents  of  our  journey, 
nor  of  the  meeting  between  Armfield  and  his  be- 
trothed. Leaving  them  together,  I  went  to  have 
a  talk  with  the  legal  gentleman  who  had  been  re- 
tained for  the  defense.  We  had  a  long  consulta- 
tion and  I .  found  his  professional  feelings  were 
thoroughly  interested. 

"It  would  be  a  plain  case  of  mistaken  identity," 
he  said,  in  conclusion,  "were  it  not  for  one  thing 
which  will  be  hard  to  prove.  That  is  the  where- 
abouts of  your  friend  at  the  time  the  crime  was 
committed.  He  tells  me  that  they  passed  the  win- 
ter of  that  year  in  the  Antoine  Canyons;  that  him- 
self and  partner  found  a  rich  streak  there  in  the 
fall,  kept  the  knowledge  of  it  to  themselves,  packed 
in  their  provisions  quietly  and  went  to  work.  The 
first  snowfall  shut  off  all  communication  with  the 
outside,  and  for  four  months  they  saw  no  human 
being  except  each  other.  They  came  out  of  the 
canyon  together,  went  East  together  and  separated 
in  New  York  City  to  go  to  their  respective  homes. 


80  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

Snow,  his  partner,  was  a  Rhode  Island  man,  but 
Armfield  has  forgotten  his  address." 

"Was  Snow  a  married  man?" 

"No." 

"Then  he  is  more  than  likely  to  have  come  back 
here.  We'll  put  an  advertisement  in  the  Times  and 
Transcript  that  may  bring  us  information  of  his 
present  locality." 

"Do  so,"  said  the  old  lawyer.  "Unless  we  can 
find  that  man  Snow,  we  have  a  bad  case.  The  most 
I  can  do  for  your  friend  now  is  to  stave  off  the  trial 
while  we  search  for  him.  Do  you  know,"  he 
added,  "that  we  have  got  to  prove  him  not  to  be 
the  guilty  party;  that  in  the  present  state  of  public 
feelings  a  verdict  of  acquittal  that  left  doubts  in 
the  minds  of  the  populace  might  be  his  death  war- 
rant. There  have  been  so  many  mockeries  of  jus- 
tice called  trials,  within  the  past  year  that  the  peo- 
ple become  excited,  take  the  law  into  their  own 
hands  and  hang  the  accused  to  the  nearest  tree? 
Only  last  week  they  strung  up  a  man  at  Quincy 
against  whom  there  was  scarcely  a  particle  of  what 
could  be  called  'legal  evidence.'  We  must  feel  our 
way  as  we  go." 

I  knew  the  old  lawyer  told  the  truth,  and  I  left 
his  office  in  no  very  cheerful  frame  of  mind.  Re- 
turning to  the  jail  I  found  Armfield  and  Hetty  in 
close  conversation  in  the  keeper's  room.  It  was 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  8 1 

evident  that  their  interview  during  my  absence  had 
been  a  painful  one. 

"Now,  Joe,  I'll  tell  you  what  we've  planned,  or 
rather  what  she  has  planned,  for  I  don't  want  her 
to  do  it.  But  this  girl  has  ciphered  it  out  that  we 
are  to  be  married  at  once." 

"That's  just  what  you  might  have  expected," 
said  I.  "But  what  then?  You  can't  keep  house 
here,  nor  do  I  think  you  would  be  allowed  even  this 
much  liberty  after  today.  This  house  is  pretty  well 
watched,  I  can  tell  you." 

"I  was  just  coming  to  that.  She'll  go  back  with 
you  and  run  the  house — it's  coming  on  that  time  of 
year  when  it  will  pay  if  it  ever  does.  All  I've  got 
in  the  world  is  put  in  that  house,  and  I'm  in  debt 
besides.  Money  we  must  have  to  get  me  out  of  this 
trouble,  and  lots  of  it,  too." 

I  could  see  no  better  plan  and  soon  left  them  to- 
gether again.  That  evening  the  ceremony  was  per- 
formed in  the  keeper's  room  in  my  presence  and 
that  of  two  or  three  ladies  of  the  young  city  who 
had  learned  Hetty's  story  and  were  disposed  to 
give  her  all  the  comfort  and  encouragement  in 
their  power.  To  me  the  marriage  ceremony  is  al- 
ways an  impressive  one,  but  there  are  none  I  can 
recall  in  a  life  of  fifty  years  more  sad  and  solemn 
of  all  such  occasions  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  wit- 
ness, than  on  that  September  evening  of  1851. 


82  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

The  news  of  our  return  to  the  diggings  brought 
all  the  boys  in  to  learn  the  result  of  our  trip.  It  is 
needless  for  me  to  say  that  the  story  of  the  wedding 
at  the  jail,  set  off  with  all  the  imbellishments  proper 
to  the  occasion,  elicited  an  unqualified  expression  of 
approval. 

'That's  a  girl  worth  tying  to,"  was  the  expres- 
sion of  one  and  all. 

Meanwhile  the  boarding  house  flourished,  and 
as  the  absent  miners  began  to  come  in  from  their 
river  claims  to  make  final  preparations  for  the  win- 
ter, its  business  daily  increased.  Part  of  this  might 
have  been  due  to  the  superior  excellence  of  the 
viands  which  graced  the  long  table  of  the  dining 
room — for  Hetty  and  her  immigrant  friend  pre- 
sided over  the  culinary  department — but,  looking 
back  through  a  vista  of  more  than  twenty-five 
years,  I  incline  to  a  belief  that  a  desire  to  help  the 
young  couple  out  was  the  dominant  feeling  which 
actuated  the  motley  assemblage  of  boarders  at 
"The  Miners'  Rest." 

But  if  we  were  favored  in  one  respect,  we  were 
making  very  little  headway  in  others.  The  adver- 
tisement to  ascertain  the  whereabouts  of  Snow  had 
been  inserted  in  the  papers  and  appeared  in  the 
long  list  of  "information  wanted,"  which  formed  a 
leading  feature  of  the  advertising  of  the  day.  Re- 
sponses came,  but  they  were  unsatisfactory,  and  at 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  83 

last  came  the  crushing  news  that  Snow  had  re- 
turned to  this  State,  joined  a  party  of  prospectors 
going  north,  and  was  killed  by  the  Indians  in  the 
Pitt  River  Country.  With  this  intelligence,  the 
prospect  for  a  release  for  Charley  Armfield  seemed 
distant  indeed. 

The  rains  of  autumn  had  begun  and  all  was  life 
and  activity  in  the  camp  of  Indian  Diggings.  Not 
much  water  was  required  to  run  a  rocker  and 
enough  had  fallen  to  start  the  little  gulches  to 
work.  The  Indian  Diggings  began  to  feel  the  first 
flush  of  prosperity  and  our  business  throve.  The 
express  wagon  increased  the  number  of  its  trips  to 
accommodate  the  increase  of  business  and  we  no 
longer  had  to  wait  till  the  end  of  the  week  for  our 
letters  from  Sacramento.  uThe  Miners*  Rest"  be- 
came a  sort  of  postoffice,  to  which  all  expecting  let- 
ters made  their  semi-weekly  resort. 

"Wish  I  was  home  for  a  week  now,"  said  one  of 
the  boarders,  a  long,  lean  Yankee,  after  perusing 
a  letter  he  received. 

"Why  don't  you  wish  for  three  months  while 
you're  about  it?"  Put  in  another.  "If  you're 
goin'  to  wish,  wish  for  somethin'." 

"Oh,  a  week  'ud  do  me.  That  'ud  carry  me  over 
Thanksgiving,  and  that  'ud  be  all  I'd  want." 

"What  in  thunder  is  Thanksgivin' ?"  asked  a  son 
of  old  "Pike,"  of  me. 


84  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

"Thanksgiving  ?  Oh,  that's  a  custom  in  vogue 
down  East.  The  Governor  appoints  a  day  for  the 
people  of  his  State  to  observe.  Some  go  to  church 
and  observe  in  that  way;  others  have  a  good  din- 
ner and  take  that  means  of  showing  themselves 
grateful  for  the  blessings  of  the  year." 

"Them  last  fellows  are  sensible,"  rejoined  my 
Missouri  friend.  "There  is  somewhat  to  be  thank- 
ful for  if  youVe  got  a  good  dinner.  I  vote  we  have 
a  ThanksgivinV 

"It  can't  be  did,"  said  another,  who  was  evi- 
dently a  stickler  for  trifles.  "We  ain't  got  no  tur- 
keys; besides  the  Guv'nor  hain't  sot  any  day  for  it." 

"Turkey  be  hanged,"  responded  the  Missourian, 
"I'll  agree  to  furnish  as  fat  a  deer  as  can  be  found 
twixt  here  and  the  Volcano,  and  that's  better  nor 
turkey  any  day.  We  can  be  thankful  whether  the 
Guv'nor  tells  us  to  or  not." 

The  idea  of  holding  a  regular  old-fashioned 
Thanksgiving  was  received  with  high  favor,  es- 
pecially by  the  New  Englanders  present.  Although 
Hetty  felt  little  like  entering  into  anything  for  the 
social  enjoyment  it  would  bring,  yet  as  a  business 
stroke,  it  promised  well,  and  she  readily  agreed  to 
prepare  the  dinner  for  as  many  as  chose  to  come. 

In  the  crowds  that  came  and  went  I  saw  many 
old  faces,  men  who  had  been  on  wild-goose  chases 
to  distant  localities,  who  had  returned  with  a  good 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  85 

stock  of  experience,  to  settle  down  near  the  old 
diggings  again.  Among  them  was  one  who  had 
crossed  the  plains  in  the  same  company  with  me, 
but  whom  I  had  not  seen  since  reaching  the  mines. 
He  was  now  located  at  Cedarville,  six  miles  dis- 
tant, and  had  come  over  to  take  a  look  at  the  now 
somewhat  famous  camp.  Our  greeting  was  hearty. 

"I  want  to  get  acquainted  with  the  woman  here 
before  I  go  back,"  said  he,  after  we  had  talked  over 
everything  we  could  think  of.  "We've  come  to 
this  spludge  today  more  to  give  her  a  little  lift  than 
anything  else.  We've  heard  about  her  trouble  and 
like  her  grit,  you  bet." 

I  told  him  to  wait  until  the  work  of  the  day  was 
over  and  the  wish  should  be  gratified.  By  this 
time  the  house  was  pretty  well  filled  with  miners, 
many  of  them  from  a  distance  who  had  come  over 
to  partake  of  their  first  Thanksgiving  dinner  in  the 
mines. 

All  things  must  have  an  ending  and  so  did  that 
Thanksgiving  Day.  When  the  women  folks  had 
got  their  work  done  for  the  day  I  went  in  with  Sil- 
verthorn  and  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Armsfield  as 
an  old  friend  whom  the  accident  of  mining  life  had 
thus  thrown  into  my  presence  so  unexpectedly. 
Leaving  them  together  I  returned  to  my  place  in 
the  bar  room  where  the  crowd  was  getting  quite 


86  THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

jolly,  and  showering  out  the  gold-dust  in  payment 
for  cigars  and  liquor  with  a  liberal  hand. 

He  remained  in  the  room  with  the  ladies  for  an 
hour  or  more,  and  when  he  came  out  the  boys  were 
breaking  up  and  we  went  to  talking  again.  He 
had  had  a  varied  experience  since  we  parted  and 
the  narration  of  his  adventures  was  interesting  to 
me. 

"I  saw  one  man,"  said  he,  "that  I  s'pose  is  kin 
to  these  women  folks.  At  least  I  judge  so,  for  his 
daguerreotype  lays  with  others  on  the  table  in 
there." 

"What  was  his  name?"  I  asked,  carelessly. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  heard  his  name. 
He  generally  went  by  the  name  of  'Missouri  Bill.' 
A  rough  sort  of  fellow,  too." 

"You  are  mistaken,  there.  There  are  no  daguer- 
reotypes but  those  of  her  own  folks.  Where  did 
you  know  this  'Missouri  Bill'?" 

"Saw  him  last  about  three  weeks  ago,  down  in 
Mariposa.  And  if  that  ain't  his  picture,  it's  that  of 
his  twin  brother,  and  I'll  swear  it." 

I  stepped  hurriedly  into  the  room,  and  selecting 
Armfield's  picture  from  the  pile  of  daguerreotypes 
from  the  pile  handed  it  to  him.  "Is  that  your 
man?"  I  asked. 

"It  is,  except  the  rig.  I  never  saw  him  in  that 
rig." 


THE  THANKSGIVING  DINNER  87 

"That,"  said  I,  "is  Charley  Armfield;  the  pic- 
ture was  taken  when  he  was  East  a  year  ago." 

"Maybe  you're  right,  but  I  could  have  sworn  it 
to  be  the  same  man." 

Our  readers  need  not  be  assured  that  with  the 
clue  thus  obtained  we  did  not  let  the  grass  grow 
under  our  feet.  In  less  than  two  weeks  Armfield 
was  set  at  liberty,  and  his  place  in  the  felon's  cell 
filled  by  the  real  culprit.  I  saw  the  two  men  to- 
gether, and  when  I  saw  the  strongly  marked  resem- 
blance between  them,  especially  when  they  were 
dressed  nearly  alike  in  the  mining  clothes  common 
to  all  at  that  period,  I  did  not  wonder  that  those 
who  had  only  seen  Shively  casually  during  the  few 
days  he  worked  for  Fielding,  should  think  that  in 
Armfield  they  saw  the  accused.  I  heard  after- 
ward that  on  his  trial,  this  resemblance  was  dwelt 
on  until  the  jury  refused  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of 
"willful  murder,"  but  compromised  on  a  lower 
crime,  which  carried  only  imprisonment  as  the 
penalty. 

Charley  took  hold  at  "The  Miners'  Rest"  and 
ran  it  with  great  success  for  a  year  or  two,  while  I 
rejoined  my  partner  in  the  claim.  I  have  not  seen 
him  now,  for  more  than  twenty  years,  but  I  doubt 
if  any  of  us  will  ever  forget  what  results  followed 
our  first  Thanksgiving  dinner  in  the  mines. 


THE   RESERVOIRS 

A  CHRISTMAS  STORY 

It  was  before  her  at  last,  in  black  and  white, — 
the  decree  of  the  court  with  its  official  seal  attached. 
She  was  a  free  woman — free  in  every  sense  of  the 
word.  Free  to  resume  the  name  she  had  borne 
when  a  maiden;  free  to  choose  her  own  habitation 
and  mode  of  life;  free,  even,  to  contract  a  new  alli- 
ance, which  should  be  severed,  perhaps,  as  coldly 
as  had  this  been  severed,  and  the  words — sweet  and 
solemn  they  had  seemed  to  her  at  the  time — "what 
God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder,1' 
be  once  more  proven  a  mockery  and  a  lie. 

Yet  it  cannot  be  said  that  Mary  Willard  found 
happiness,  in  any  sense  of  the  word,  in  her  new- 
found liberty.  For  with  the  decree  and  its  seal 
lying  before  her,  she  could  not  keep  back  the  vis- 
ions of  the  past  which  rose  in  her  eyes,  and  would 
fill  their  vista  whether  she  would  or  no.  In  the 
happy,  happy  years  gone  by,  when,  amid  other 
scenes  and  in  other  lands,  she  had  first  found  reason 
to  believe  herself  beloved.  In  the  days  so  well 
remembered,  when  surrounded  by  the  loving 
friends  of  herself  and  her  chosen  husband,  she  had 


90  THE  RESERVOIRS 

spoken  the  words  so  freely  and  so  gladly,  which 
then  seemed  to  have  bound  her  irrevocably  to  the 
being  at  her  side.  In  the  years  of  later  date,  when 
standing  at  the  little  bed  of  their  only  one,  they  had 
together  watched  the  fleeting  of  its  spirit,  and  only 
turned  away  at  the  last  moment,  when  hope  seemed 
to  have  bidden  farewell  to  their  hearts  forever, 
each  to  find  in  the  whispered  words  of  the  other  the 
bond  of  consolation  which  only  the  knowledge  of 
a  common  sorrow  can  give.  In  the  still  later  years, 
when  the  spirit  of  enterprise  had  sent  her  husband's 
strong  arm  to  delve  among  the  mines  and  moun- 
tains of  the  Golden  State,  and  like  the  true,  good 
wife  she  then  was,  she  had  followed  his  fortunes. 
Why  should  they  come  crowding  upon  her  now, 
mocking  her  in  the  hour  of  her  apparent  triumph? 
We  shall  not  undertake  to  say  that  she  had  been 
wholly  blameless,  or  wholly  to  blame  for  what  oc- 
curred. Between  two  fiery  natures  it  needed  but  a 
spark  to  kindle  into  flame  passions  which  were  too 
proud  to  admit  an  acknowledgment  of  wrong,  ex- 
cept in  the  secret  recesses  of  the  heart.  A  lightly 
spoken  word,  given  swift  currency  by  the  ready 
breath  of  scandal,  was  the  seed  which  had  borne 
a  plenteous  harvest  in  the  field  of  ruin  to  domestic 
bliss.  From  this  one  starting  point,  others  had 
arisen  and,  when  the  final  step  was  taken  on  the 


THE  RESERVOIRS  9! 

part  of  the  wife,  it  had  been  met  with  no  oppo- 
sition. 

The  night  before  the  day  on  which  our  story 
opens  had  witnessed  the  closing  of  the  opening 
storm  of  winter.  For  days  together  the  rains  had 
beaten  down  piteously  on  the  parched  earth,  while 
the  cheerful  patter,  patter,  on  the  roofs  at  night, 
had  carried  joy  to  the  hearts  of  the  miners,  to 
whom  its  welcome  sound  had  been  strange  for 
many  days.  A  clear,  bright,  sunny  day,  with  the 
air  as  soft  and  balmy  as  in  springtime,  though  the 
snow-capped  summits  of  the  mountains  surround- 
ing, from  which  the  dark  green  of  the  clumps  of  fir 
and  pine  stood  out  to  relieve  the  eye  from  the  daz- 
zling brightness  of  the  winter  vestments,  dispelled 
such  a  thought.  It  was  a  day  too  bright  and  lovely 
to  be  passed  wholly  indoors,  and  although  she  knew 
the  ground  would  be  cold  and  damp  beneath  her 
feet,  yet  a  walk  would  serve  to  turn  the  current  of 
her  thoughts,  which  would  run  into  channels  that 
could  not  be  controlled. 

She  had  scarce  passed  the  threshhold  when  she 
saw  an  approaching  visitor,  and  intuitively  divined 
that  his  business  was  with  her,  rather  than  with  any 
of  those  with  whom  she  was  making  her  tem- 
porary home.  She  turned  back,  for  she  was  in  no 
mood  to  seek  a  partner  for  her  walk  in  the  gentle- 
man whose  neatly  trimmed  whiskers  and  spotless 


92  THE  RESERVOIRS 

linen  proclaimed  him  as  one  of  the  "ladies'  men" 
of  the  camp.  The  gentleman  followed  her  in  and 
was  not  long  in  making  his  errand  known.  There 
was  to  be  a  Christmas  tree  and  a  good  time  gener- 
ally on  Christmas  eve,  he  said.  Would  Mrs.  Wil- 
lard  honor  him  so  far  as  to  be  his  partner  on  that 
occasion  ? 

"Of  course  she  will,"  was  the  answer  which 
came  from  Mrs.  Sanders,  the  woman  of  the  house, 
before  Mary  had  time  to  make  any  answer.  "She's 
not  agoing  to  stay  mewed  up  here  by  herself  on  that 
night,  for  we  are  all  agoing.  I'll  answer  for  her, 
for  that." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mary,  "  as  I  will  care  to  go 
that  evening." 

"Well,  I  do.  What  on  airth  will  keep  you  at 
home  ?  'Tain't  as  though  you  were  not  free  to  go 
where  you  pleased,  and  stay  as  long  as  you  like." 

There  was  a  sophistry  about  this  that  Mary  did 
not  reply  to.  Still  she  did  not  say  that  she  would 
accept  the  invitation ;  neither  did  she  positively  de- 
cline, and  when  the  gentleman  took  his  departure 
it  was  with  the  implied  understanding  that  he 
should  call  for  her  on  the  evening  in  question. 

It  was  not  an  easy  matter  for  Mary  Willard  to 
make  up  her  mind  to  court  society  in  her  present 
mood  of  mind.  For  though  the  law  of  the  land 
had  been  invoked  in  her  behalf,  and  its  decision 


THE  RESERVOIRS  93 

had  been  to  her  justification,  the  proud  spirit  which 
had  upheld  her  in  the  presence  of  others  and  had 
borne  her  through,  thus  far,  in  the  solitude  of  her 
own  presence,  gave  way,  and  she  now  looked  with 
bitter  regret  at  the  last  act,  of  her  own  seeking, 
which  had  closed  the  door  of  reconciliation.  How 
would  this  news  be  received  at  home  ?  How  could 
the  opinions  of  those  she  held  most  dear  be  brought 
to  justify  her,  as  she  had  been  justified  by  those 
by  whom  she  was  surrounded?  It  would  not  be 
done,  she  knew,  for  with  them  the  marriage  tie 
was  one  not  thoughtlessly  to  be  assumed,  nor  lightly 
to  be  shaken  off. 

The  continued  chatter  of  her  landlady  annoyed 
her — she  wanted  to  be  alone.  Resuming  the  in- 
terrupted walk,  her  feet  strayed,  almost  against 
her  will,  into  the  path  leading  into  the  flat  where 
the  claim  in  which  George  Willard  worked  was 
situated.  Absorbed  in  her  thoughts,  she  did  not 
notice  this  until  she  was  aroused  by  the  familiar 
voice  of  one  of  his  partners: 

"Why,  Mrs.  Willard,  are  you  lost?" 

She  started  and  looked  up. 

"Don't  be  scared;  I  ain't  half  as  bad  as  I  look. 
Cutting  blue  bedrock,  you  know,  don't  add  much  to 
a  fellow's  beauty." 

"Is  that  what  you  are  doing?"  said  Mary,  glanc- 
ing at  his  spattered  appearance. 


94  THE  RESERVOIRS 

"Well,  I  should  think  it  was,  and  has  been  for 
the  last  three  months.  But  there's  an  end  of  all 
things,  and  there'll  soon  be  one  of  that." 

"George  is  with  you?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes;  he's  up  the  ditch  just  now,  seeing  if 
there's  danger  of  slides.  I've  just  been  up  to  shut 
the  reservoirs,  and  I  look  for  him  back  any  min- 
ute. Sorry  that  you  and  him  are  two  again,  and 
I  guess  he  is,  but  everybody  knows  his  own  busi- 
ness best." 

Mary  hastened  to  turn  the  conversation.  "I 
hope  you'll  do  well,"  she  said;  "you've  all  worked 
hard  enough  to  deserve  it." 

"Well,  that's  so;  but  unfortunately  success  does 
not  always  reward  merit,  when  it's  mining.  You've 
seen  old  Bill  Sharp — Whisky  Bill,  they  call  him. 
He's  never  out  of  diggings.  When  he  sticks  his 
pick  in  the  ground,  he's  got  a  good  claim.  Dang 
it,  I'd  rather  have  his  luck  than  a  license  to  steal. 
But  I  must  get  to  work,"  and  he  turned  away. 

"Mr.  Sims,"  she  called  after  him.  He  turned 
around.  "Please  say  nothing  to — to  George  of 
having  met  me,  will  you?" 

"Mum's  the  word,  ma'am,  if  you  wish  it.  I'll 
not  tell  him  you  inquired  for  him,  sartin.  That  I 
take  is  what  you  mean.  I'm  sorry,  though,  you 
can't  come  down  and  see  the  diggings  as  you  used 
to.  Forty  feet  in  the  bedrock  now,  and  timbers  so 


THE  RESERVOIRS  95 

thick  you  couldn't  drop  a  hat  to  the  bottom  of  the 
ditch.  Good-bye." 

He  was  off  again  and  Mary  was  alone.  And 
which  way  to  go  she  hardly  knew.  She  did  not 
care  to  meet  her  husband  that  day,  above  all  others, 
and  yet,  let  her  go  any  way  she  would,  they  were 
liable  to  meet.  She  went  back  to  where  the  trail 
forked,  one  branch  leading  to  the  reservoirs,  the 
other  by  the  house  from  which  she  had  come,  and 
which  could  be  plainly  seen  from  the  junction. 
There,  catching  sight  of  an  approaching  figure,  she 
hastily  ran  behind  a  thick  clump  of  manzanitas  and 
waited  until  it  should  have  gone  by. 

It  was  George,  returning  from  the  trip  up  the 
ditch,  of  which  Sims  had  spoken.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  seen  him  since  the  action  had  com- 
menced, for  from  that  time  he  had  sedulously 
avoided  the  chance  of  meeting  her.  He  came 
along,  and  from  her  secure  point  of  observation 
she  watched  him  with  eager  eye.  As  he  passed  the 
junction  of  the  trails,  he  gave  a  quick  glance 
toward  her  residence,  then  moving  further  on 
until  the  undergrowth  concealed  his  form,  gazed 
long  and  earnestly  over  the  tops  of  the  low  bushes 
toward  the  spot  where  he  believed  her  at  that  mo- 
ment to  be.  Perhaps  he  thought  to  see  her,  if 
but  for  a  moment;  but  if  so  he  was  doomed  to  dis- 
appoinment.  As  it  was,  unconscious  of  the  gaze 


96  THE  RESERVOIRS 

fixed  upon  him,  he  turned  and  moved  slowly  and 
sadly  away. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  call  after  his  retreat- 
ing form,  but  her  tongue  refused  to  do  its  office. 
Watching  him  until  he  disappeared,  she  again 
sought  the  path  and  went  on — why  she  knew  not — 
in  the  direction  of  the  reservoirs.  And,  indeed,  it 
seemed  to  her,  that  in  all  her  movements  that  day 
she  was  not  governed  by  her  own  volition,  but 
guided  by  a  will  superior  to  her  own.  The  reser- 
voirs were  three  in  number,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  claim  they  were  used  to  work,  on  the 
gently  rising  ground  of  a  "blind"  ravine.  They 
were  located  one  above  the  other  in  such  a  way  that 
the  water  from  the  upper  one  would  pass  through 
both  the  others  when  the  gates  were  hoisted,  and 
the  common  way  of  using  them  had  been  to  hoist 
all  the  gates  at  once,  and  gauge  the  flow  of  water 
from  the  lowest  and  largest  of  the  three.  Until 
now  the  ditch  had  not  afforded  water  to  fill  them 
all,  but  the  heavy  rains  of  the  past  few  days  had 
increased  its  volume  greatly,  and  when  she  stepped 
upon  the  bank  the  crystal  stream  was  pouring 
through  the  waste-ways  of  the  upper  two,  and  fill- 
ing rapidly  the  one  into  which  she  looked. 

How  clear  and  bright  the  water  looked  that 
mirrored  back  her  form.  It  seemed  to  invite  her 
to  that  repose,  within  its  depths,  which  earth  denied 


THE  RESERVOIRS  97 

her.  How  strangely  she  felt  today ;  how  her  head 
burned  and  throbbed.  She  could  look  for  one  mo- 
ment in  the  limpid  waters  and  see  each  pebble  in 
the  gravelly  bottom;  then  her  head  would  swim 
and  all  grow  dark  before  her  vision. 

The  thought  crossed  her  mind,  Why  had  she 
come  to  this  spot?  Was  it  only  to  die?  To  be 
found  by  him,  perhaps,  when  the  cold  grasp  of 
death  was  laid  upon  her?  She  shuddered  at  the 
thought,  and  moving  cautiously  to  the  edge  of 
the  slowly  rising  water,  dipped  her  handkerchief 
down  into  it,  and  bathing  her  burning  brow,  found 
in  its  icy  coldness,  some  measure  of  relief. 

But  not  altogether,  for  yet  there  was  a  dimness 
of  vision  which  had  not  passed  away.  For  the 
water,  which  had  at  first  appeared  so  clear  and 
limpid  in  her  sight,  was  now  opaque  and  yellow, 
rising  rapidly,  as  if  hungry  for  her,  while  the  sound 
of  its  rushing  filled  her  ears.  She  hastened  to 
climb  back  up  the  embankment  again,  and  then 
she  knew  it  was  not  a  deception  of  the  imagination, 
but  a  reality  that  she  saw.  Softened  by  the  heavy 
rains,  the  embankment  of  the  upper  reservoir  was 
giving  away,  and  the  dissolving  earth,  through 
which  a  channel,  rapidly  deepening  and  widening, 
was  cutting  its  way,  was  what  gave  the  water  be- 
fore her  its  yellow  tinge.  She  took  in  the  conse- 
quences at  a  glance.  The  breaking  of  the  upper 


98  THE  RESERVOIRS 

reservoir  would  be  followed,  in  turn,  by  that  of 
each  of  the  others,  when  the  combined  waters  of  all 
would  sweep  down  to  the  creek  in  an  angry  tor- 
rent, whose  fury  nothing  could  withstand.  She 
knew  that  if  this  torrent  came  upon  George  and  his 
partners  unawares,  while  they  were  at  work  in  the 
deep  and  narrow  bedrock  cut  of  which  Sims  had 
spoken,  it  would  give  them  no  chance  whatever  of 
escape.  Turning  away,  she  stepped  cautiously 
down  the  bank,  until  she  reached  the  beaten  path, 
down  which  she  started  with  the  speed  of  a  fright- 
ened deer,  knowing  well  that  life  and  death  de- 
pended upon  her  footsteps. 

It  seemed  an  age  to  her,  although  it  was  but  a 
few  minutes  before  she  stood  where  she  could  look 
from  the  high,  perpendicular  banks  down  into  the 
claim.  There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  she  knew 
she  must  go  farther  with  her  message  of  warning, 
for  the  dull  thud  of  the  heavy  picks,  mingled  in 
with  the  sharper,  measured  clang  of  the  sledge  and 
drill,  told  her  that,  as  she  had  feared,  they  were  all 
working  in  the  deep  cut.  One  glance  behind  her 
assured  her  that  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost — 
already  the  waters  were  pouring  over  the  embank- 
ment on  which  she  had  stood — leaping  and  flashing 
in  the  sunlight  as  they  came.  She  ran  swiftly  down 
the  steep,  crooked  path,  and  in  a  moment  more 
stood  on  the  bare,  shelly  bedrock  beside  the  ditch. 


THE  RESERVOIRS  99 

"Oh,  Mr.  Sims,"  she  cried,  for  he  was  the  only 
one  she  saw,  "where  are  the  others?  The  reser- 
voirs are  breaking." 

"No!"  said  Sims,  looking  up,  with  his  pick 
poised  in  readiness  for  another  blow;  "is  that  so? 
It's  only  a  squirrel  hole,  I  reckon." 

"Indeed,  it  is  not,"  she  cried  earnestly.  "Do  tell 
George  to  come  up.  It  is  running  over  the  big 
reservoir  all  around  like  a  wall." 

"The  d — 1  it  is!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Sims,  quite 
startled  out  of  his  sense  of  propriety.  "Hey,  boys ! 
Bill,  George,  Kentuck !  Grab  your  tools  and  come 
out.  The  reservoirs  are  busted  and  things  will  go 
flukin'  here  in  just  no  time." 

They  did  not  need  to  be  told  a  second  time,  but 
started  without  standing  on  "the  order  of  their 
going."  Sims  was  the  first  to  reach  the  spot  where 
she  stood — just  as  the  roar  of  the  advancing  tor- 
rent smote  upon  their  ears. 

"Where's  George?"  she  asked,  her  face  white 
with  anxiety  and  terror. 

"He  was  bringing  up  the  lowest  level,"  an- 
swered Sims.  "He's  got  a  little  further  to  come 
than  them  fellers,"  pointing  to  the  two  blasters 
who  had  just  climbed  out.  "My  God,  he's 
stopped,"  he  continued,  as  with  a  deafening  crash 
the  stream  burst  over  the  bank. 


100  THE  RESERVOIRS 

She  looked  down  with  a  face  of  despair.  To 
think  she  should  be  only  a  moment  too  late !  He 
was  just  beneath  them,  and  as  he  looked  upward 
their  eyes  met,  for  the  first  time  in  many  days. 

"Come  up  on  the  timbers,"  cried  Kentuck;  "you 
can't  make  it  in  any  other  way." 

He  understood  the  motion  accompanying  the 
words,  which  were  lost  in  the  overwhelming  roar 
of  the  descending  waters.  Gathering  his  strength 
for  a  mighty  effort,  he  sprang  up,  and  catching 
one  of  the  lowest  timbers,  swung  himself  upon  it 
just  as  the  stream  (which  had  been  for  a  moment 
checked  by  a  low  channel  back)  passed  swiftly 
under  his  feet.  From  brace  to  brace  he  came  up 
like  a  squirrel,  and  soon  the  strong  arms  of  his 
partners  had  him  safely  landed.  He  turned  to  the 
spot  where  he  had  seen  his  wife  standing,  and  a  cry 
of  agony  burst  from  his  heart  as  he  saw  her  lying, 
pale  and  lifeless,  with  her  cheek  to  the  ragged  rock. 

"Let's  take  her  up,  boys,"  said  Kentuck,  who  of 
them  all  seemed  to  be  the  most  cool  and  collected. 
"We  ain't  out  of  the  woods  yet,  by  a  long  chalk. 
That  ditch  hasn't  vent  enough  to  carry  what'll  be 
on  us  in  a  minute  more,  and  we'd  better  get  up 
and  get  out  of  here  while  we  can." 

Tenderly,  as  if  she  were  an  infant,  they  raised  her 
and  started  up  the  narrow  trail.  Kentuck  was 
right,  for  scarce  had  they  commenced  the  ascent 


THE  RESERVOIRS  IOI 

when  the  final  crash  came.  The  last  and  greatest 
of  the  reservoirs  was  gone — the  avalanche  of 
waters  tore  over  the  bank  in  all  directions,  almost 
sweeping  them  from  their  feet  where  they  stood. 
It  lasted  but  a  minute,  but  that  minute  was  enough 
for  it  to  do  its  work  of  destruction  as  effectually  as 
years  could  have  been. 

"It's  been  touch  and  go  with  us,  boys,"  said  Ken- 
tuck,  as  they  reached  the  level  ground  and  paused, 
partly  to  take  breath  and  partly  to  look  upon  the 
scene  of  destruction.  "We'd  gone  to  kingdom 
come  with  our  gum-boots  on,  if  it  weren't  for  the 
grit  and  forethought  of  this  gal.  Poor  creetur; 
she  stood  it  bully  till  she  seed  you  was  all  right — 
then  she  kind  of  lost  her  grip,  and  drapped  all  holts 
to  wunst.  A  little  good  nussin',  though,  will  bring 
her  'round.  George,  old  boy,  this  thing  sets  in- 
fernal rough  onto  us;  don't  it?  It's  ondid  in  a 
minute  what's  taken  us  years  to  do.  But  if  it  brings 
that  gal  and  you  together  agin  so's  you'll  stick  t 
damme  if  I  don't  say  'Amen'  to  my  part  of  it,  jest 
as  long  as  I  live." 

But  what  Kentuck  thought  about  the  "little  nus- 
sin' "  did  not  prove  to  be  the  case.  The  seeds  of 
disease  had  been  in  her  system ;  the  excitement  she 
had  undergone  only  hastened  their  development, 
and  for  many  days  her  life  hung  trembling  in  the 
balance;  while  her  distracted  mind,  ever  wander- 


102  THE  RESERVOIRS 

ing  back  to  the  realms  of  memory,  lived  in  the 
past,  and  laid  bare  the  most  secret  recesses  of  her 
heart. 

It  was  days,  nay,  weeks,  ere  Mary  Willard  again 
opened  her  eyes  with  the  light  of  reason  shining 
from  within  them.  She  could  hardly  persuade  her- 
self she  was  not  dreaming,  for  although  her  apart- 
ment had  a  strangely  familiar  look,  it  was  not  one 
she  could  have  been  led  to  expect.  It  was  not  her 
room  at  Mrs.  Sanders',  but  her  room  at  her  hus- 
band's house,  and  it  looked  as  though  she  had 
never,  even  for  an  hour,  left  it.  There  was  the 
great  mirror  in  its  usual  place,  her  favorite  pic- 
tures where  they  had  been  hung  by  her  own  hands, 
and  the  snowy  coverlet  on  the  bed  was  the  one  she 
had  made  the  first  happy  summer  of  her  wedded 
life.  She  closed  her  eyes  again,  and  wondered  if 
what  she  had  seen  was  reality,  or  only  imagination. 
Gradually  it  all  came  to  her  mind — the  separation, 
the  proceedings  in  the  court,  and  last  of  all,  the 
walk  up  the  reservoirs  and  what  had  followed.  She 
could  not  reconcile  these  things  with  her  present 
surroundings,  and  hoped  that  it  was  but  the  mem- 
ory of  a  painful  dream,  remembered  only  for  the 
fancied  suffering  it  had  brought  her.  Her  thoughts 
became  confused  in  trying  to  solve  the  problem 
they  had  given,  and  it  was  only  when  she  essayed 
to  rise  upon  her  elbow  and  look  around  her,  that 


THE  RESERVOIRS  103 

she  came  to  the  knowledge  of  her  own  weakness. 
As  she  fell  back  to  her  pillow,  there  was  a  quick 
step  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  she  saw  the  hag- 
gard, careworn  face  of  her  husband  looking  down 
eagerly  upon  her. 

"What  has  happened,  George?"  she  asked, 
faintly. 

"Don't  speak,  darling;  you  have  been  very  sick, 
but  are  better  now.  Now  lie  very  still  while  I  call 
the  doctor,  for  such  are  his  directions." 

He  passed  from  the  room  and  presently  returned 
with  the  village  physician.  His  view  of  the  pa- 
tient's condition  was  a  most  hopeful  one,  and  with 
a  strict  injunction  to  remain  quiet  and  not  permit 
herself  to  become  excited  about  anything,  he  took 
his  departure,  leaving  them  alone. 

For  a  few  moments  they  were  silent,  when  she 
made  a  motion  which  brought  his  face  close  to  her 
own: 

"I  thought  I  heard  music,  George?" 

"You  did,  Mary;  they  are  dancing  at  the  hall, 
in  honor  of  Christmas  eve." 

Christmas  eve.  It  all  came  clear  to  her  now. 
The  past  was  no  dream,  the  remembrance  of  which 
she  could  put  aside  at  pleasure.  And  this  was  the 
Christmas  party  she  had  been  invited  to  attend, 
and  to  which  invitation  she  had  given  a  half  as- 
sent. He  gathered  from  her  looks  that  painful 


104  THE  RESERVOIRS 

thoughts  were  passing  through  her  mind,  and 
bending  close  to  her,  whispered : 

"Mary,  we  have  both  been  foolish,  and  it  has 
made  us  very  wretched;  but  we  will  not  talk  of  it 
now.  Try  and  compose  yourself  to  rest,  and  when 
you  have  the  strength  to  talk  to  me,  I  will  tell  you 
how  I  have  prayed,  God  only  knows  how  earnestly, 
for  the  moment  when  I  could  hear  the  sweet  words 
of  forgiveness  fall  from  your  lips.  How  I  have 
dreaded  lest  you  should  be  taken  from  me  with 
those  words  unspoken.  To  ask  you  to  trust  to  me 
once  more,  and  may  God  deal  with  me  as  I  do  with 
thee." 

She  smiled  in  reply  to  his  earnest  words  and 
manner  of  speaking,  and  the  wan  hand  she  had 
given  within  his  own  gave  a  faint  pressure.  Then 
she  fell  into  a  deep  and  quiet  slumber,  which  con- 
tinued until  the  lengthening  shadows  were  falling 
from  the  westward,  and  the  day  was  far  advanced. 

She  lay  quiet  for  a  time,  thinking  upon  her 
course  of  action.  It  did  not  take  her  long  to  de- 
cide upon  that,  and  with  her  determination  came 
visions  of  the  future  which  enchanted  her  thoughts. 
A  light  step  by  the  bedside  awoke  her  from  her 
reverie,  and  she  saw  one  of  her  neighbor  ladies 
standing  by  her. 

"My  husband?"  she  asked. 


" — here  you  are,  and  not  looking  nigh  as  peekid  as  I  thought 
you  would."      (See  page  105.) 


THE  RESERVOIRS  1 05 

"He'll  come  at  once.  He  went  to  lie  down  and 
left  orders  to  be  called  whenever  you  awoke."  And 
in  a  moment  George  was  with  her. 

uls  it  Christmas  Day?"  she  asked. 

"It  is,  Mary." 

"Peace  on  earth,  and  good  will  to  man,  upon  this 
day.  We  will  not  wait  for  a  better  one,  George." 

He  understood  her  meaning,  and  a  messenger 
was  dispatched  for  a  minister.  "There  is  one 
other  I  would  like  to  have  present,  Mary — Ken- 
tuck,  and  I'll  have  to  go  and  look  for  him  myself." 

She  assented  with  a  nod,  and  he  went  out.  When 
he  returned  his  true  old  partner  was  with  him. 

"Well,  now,"  said  that  worthy,  cheerfully, 
"here  you  are,  and  not  looking  nigh  as  peekid  as  I 
thought  you  would.  Why,  you'll  be  as  peert  and 
spry  as  a  house  lizard  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  How 
air  you  feelin'  anyhow?" 

She  thanked  him  and  said  that  she  was  real  well; 
only  rather  weak. 

"Oh,  that's  nat' rally  to  be  looked  for,  you 
know.  Now,  I'll  have  to  go  again,  but  I'm  liable 
to  drop  in  on  you  any  minute." 

"Not  yet,"  said  George;  "we  want  you  to  stay 
to  our  wedding." 

"Is  that  so?  Now  you're  talking  sense.  This 
news  makes  a  better  Christmas  for  me  than  a  dol- 


106  THE  RESERVOIRS 

lar  to  the  pan  in  the  gravel  Would.  Whose  notion 
was  it  to  have  it  today  ?" 

"Hers." 

"Of  course  it  was,"  said  Kentuck,  with  a  saga- 
cious look.  "I'd  a  knowed  that  without  askin'  if  I'd 
a  stopped  to  think.  George,  she's  a  trump.  She's 
a  heart  flush  in  twenty-deck." 

"Kentuck  pays  you  a  high  compliment,"  said 
George  to  Mary,  who  looked  puzzled.  "Every- 
thing goes  by  the  cards  with  him.  He  means  to 
tell  you  that  you  are  the  best  there  is." 

"That's  it,  ma'am,  exactly.  But  I  tell  you,  if  I 
thought  I  could  make  one  'draw'  and  get  a  gal  like 
you,  I'd  never  raise  back  on  two  pa'r  ag'in.  I'd 
never  touch  a  keerd." 

The  arrival  of  the  clergyman  checked  the  flow 
of  Kentuck's  jargon,  and,  after  a  little  general  con- 
versation, the  ceremony  was  proceeded  with.  The 
re-united  couple  took  on  themselves  the  sacred  ob- 
ligations with  a  far  deeper  sense  of  their  signifi- 
cance than  before.  In  the  months  of  their  separa- 
tion they  had  learned  to  study  the  faults  and  fail- 
ings which  were  hidden  in  their  own  bosoms,  and  to 
know  that  the  security  of  domestic  happiness  lies  in 
reciprocal  kindness  and  mutual  forbearance.  Study- 
ing each  the  happiness  of  the  other,  neither  had  oc- 
casion to  regret  the  day  on  which  the  divorced  wife 
took  her  solitary  walk  in  the  direction  of  "The 
Reservoirs." 


THE   LEGEND    OF    HUMBUG 
GULCH 

A  HOLIDAY  STORY  WITH  A  MORAL. 

It  was  always  a  mystery  to  most  people  what 
kept  Jake  Morton  on  Humbug  Gulch.  It  was  very 
true  that  in  early  days  Humbug  had  some  rich  spots 
in  it,  and  if  report  told  the  truth,  Jake  had,  him- 
self, at  one  time  made  quite  a  little  "raise"  from 
the  banks  and  bars  of  that  now-condemned  stream. 
But  the  "raise,"  if  Jake  had  ever  had  any,  had  long 
since  found  its  way  into  the  pockets  of  more  for- 
tunate men,  while  Jake  alone,  of  the  many  miners 
who  had  at  different  times,  essayed  to  make  Hum- 
bug pay,  still  lived  there  and  worked  among  its 
boulders.  If  Humbug  had  ever  had  a  palmy  day, 
it  must  have  been  many  years  ago,  for  it  was  pretty 
well  understood,  among  the  quid  mines  who  are  to 
be  found  in  every  mining  camp,  that  Jake  Morton 
had  not  made  a  good  day's  wages  there  for  four 
years.  He  always  got  a  little  gold,  they  knew; 
enough  so  that  he  kept  his  accounts  pretty  well  bal- 
anced with  the  merchants  and  butchers  of  Slab- 
town,  which  romantically  named  village  was  the 
source  from  which  the  Hermit  of  Humbug  drew  his 


108  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

supplies,  but  then,  if  a  man  wants  to  work  for  just 
his  "grub,"  he  can  make  that  almost  anywhere,  and 
not  be  compelled  to  camp  off  in  such  an  out-of-the- 
way  place  as  that  which  he  had  chosen. 

But  Jake  Morton  had  a  theory  of  his  own  in  re- 
lation to  the  diggings  on  Humbug,  and  that  theory 
he  wisely  kept  to  himself.  So  the  stray  miners 
whom  curiosity  in  regard  to  Jake's  movements,  or 
a  desire  to  win  success  by  striking  a  prospect  where 
everyone  else  had  failed,  who  from  time  to  time 
made  their  appearance  at  Jake's  cabin,  armed  with 
pan  and  pick  and  other  paraphernalia  of  "ye  pros- 
pector," always  left  with  a  profound  disgust,  both 
of  the  gulch  itself,  and  of  any  man  who  would  fool 
away  his  time  by  staying  in  such  a  miserable  section, 
where,  as  "Kentuck  No.  i"  once  said,  "A  man 
might  ground  sluice  a  year  before  he'd  take  out 
gold  enough  to  fill  a  holler  tooth."  So  bad,  indeed, 
had  become  the  reputation  of  the  Humbug  dig- 
gings, that  even  John  Chinaman,  with  his  everlast- 
ing rocker,  seldom  strayed  up  that  way,  but  on  the 
other  hand  gave  them  a  wide  berth.  All  this,  how- 
ever, was  just  what  Jake  desired.  He  had  been  on 
the  gulch  so  long  that  he  knew  just  where  every 
good  spot  in  it  had  been,  and  he  could  pick  around 
these  spots  and  make  a  few  dollars  at  any  time 
when,  in  trying  to  prove  the  truth  of  his  theory,  he 
found  himself  running  "light." 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  1 09 

The  winter  had  set  in  unusually  stormy,  and  the 
holidays  had  arrived,  when  the  events  detailed  in 
this  most  truthful  legend  are  said  to  have  trans- 
pired. For  several  days  the  rain  had  poured  down 
in  torrents,  swelling  each  little  stream  beyond  its 
due  proportions,  while  the  tops  of  the  hills  and  the 
sides  of  the  loftier  mountains  were  clothed  in  the 
fleecy  garments  of  snow.  Jake  stood  in  the  door 
of  his  old  log  cabin,  looking  out  upon  the  swollen 
stream  and  the  gloomy  sky,  with  a  most  discon- 
tented expression  of  countenance.  If  an  "honest 
miner"  of  the  present  day  should  look  upon  such 
a  scene  with  the  slightest  degree  of  disapprobation, 
he  would  be  at  once  adjudged  a  fit  candidate  for 
Stockton,  for  miners  now  believe  if  we  could  only 
have  a  "wet  winter"  the  whole  year  around  we 
would  soon  get  rich.  But  the  secret  of  Jake's  dis- 
content was  this:  he  wanted  to  go  to  town.  Man 
is  defined  to  be  an  animal  gregarious  in  instincts, 
and  Jake,  albeit  he  lived  and  worked  by  himself, 
could  enjoy  the  society  of  his  fellow-man  as  well 
as  anybody.  Moreover,  it  was  the  last  day  of  the 
year,  and  the  idea  of  commencing  a  New  Year  in 
the  solitudes  of  Humbug  Gulch  was,  for  some  rea- 
son, unusually  distasteful  to  its  lone  inhabitant. 
He  studied  some  time  profoundly  whether  he 
should  defy  the  elements  and  make  a  start  anyhow. 
But  the  thought  of  wading  through  the  ice-cold 


1 10  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

waters  of  Gambler's  Ravine,  and  then  perhaps  find- 
ing the  footbridge  washed  away  at  the  White  Mule 
Gulch,  was  too  strong  for  him,  and  with  a  last 
lingering  look  at  the  darkening  sky,  he  gathered  an 
armful  of  dry  wood  from  the  shed  and  entered  his 
cabin. 

The  short  winter  day  soon  drew  to  a  close,  while 
the  storm  without  raged  with  renewed  fury.  When 
Jake  had  eaten  supper  and  put  things  a  little  to 
rights,  he  piled  a  fresh  lot  of  wood  in  the  broad 
fire-place,  and,  drawing  a  comical  imitation  of  an 
easy  chair  before  the  cheerful  fire,  fell  into  a 
dreamy  reverie.  Naturally  enough  his  thoughts 
reverted  to  the  scene  of  by-gone  days,  to  the  holi- 
day festivities  which  had  been  so  heartily  celebrated 
in  the  old  house  at  home,  and  the  temptation  to 
compare  his  present  mode  of  life  to  that  to  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  became  irresistible.  He 
looked  around  upon  the  bare  walls  of  the  rough 
cabin  which  had  been  his  home  for  so  many  weary 
years,  and  took  mental  note  of  the  rude  furniture 
which  formed  its  only  embellishment.  A  few  pots 
and  skillets,  blackened  with  long  and  constant  use ; 
two  or  three  frying  pans  hanging  to  nails  driven  in 
the  logs;  dishrags  nailed  to  the  end  of  a  stick;  a 
pine  table,  on  which  stood  one  clean  plate  and  half 
a  dozen  dirty  ones;  these,  with  a  broom  and  an 
old,  long-handled  shovel  (which  had  once  done 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  1 1 1 

duty  in  the  claim  and  now  did  the  same  in  the  fire- 
place) standing  in  the  corner,  constituted  the  adorn- 
ments of  his  home.  A  little  shelf  on  which  were 
ranged  a  number  of  books,  was  the  only  thing  that 
had  a  home-like  appearance  to  him  that  night.  One 
glance  was  enough  for  Jake,  who  elapsed  into  his 
reverie  again,  while  the  storm  raged  on  without, 
and  the  waters  of  the  gulch,  a  few  rods  from  the 
door,  roared  in  a  manner  which  told  of  their  fast 
gathering  strength. 

"This  is  a  sweet  old  place  for  a  man  to  be  in  on 
New  Year's  eve,"  soliloquized  Jake,  who,  like  men 
generally  who  are  much  alone,  had  contracted  the 
habit  of  talking  to  himself.  "It's  just  as  good 
though  as  to  be  down-town.  What's  Christmas  or 
New  Year  more  than  any  other  day  to  a  fellow  in 
the  mines?  Let  me  find  that  lead  once  that  the 
Fleming  boys  had,  and  I'll  get  to  a  civilized  coun- 
try, quicker." 

Oh,  ho,  Mr.  Morton,  so  it's  the  search  for  a  lost 
lead  that  keeps  you  a  resident  of  Humbug !  Well, 
we  know  a  great  many  miners  who  have  hunted  for 
a  pay-streak  that  somebody  else  had  in  former 
years,  but  it's  not  very  often  that  they  find  it. 

His  eyes  wandered  sleepily  around  until  they 
again  rested  on  the  old  shovel  in  the  corner. 

"You've  been  a  pretty  good  shovel  in  your  day," 
said  Jake,  apostrophizing  the  battered  tool;  "you 


112  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

helped  me  to  work  out  the  best  spot  I  ever  found  in 
the  gulch.  I'd  like  to  find  another  spot  like  that." 

"What  good  would  it  do  you?"  returned  the 
shovel,  which  seemed  to  take  on  some  semblance  to 
a  human  form  and  advance  toward  him. 

Jake  started  from  his  seat  at  hearing  the  shovel 
address  him  so  curtly.  But  the  shovel  was  sitting 
just  as  he  had  left  it,  and  he  settled  back  in  the  old 
chair  again. 

"Steamboated  again,"  muttered  Jake,  "though  I 
could  almost  swear  it  spoke  to  me.  But  it's  as  big 
a  humbug  as  the  gulch  itself." 

There  was  no  mistake  that  this  time  the  shovel 
did  walk  out  of  its  corner  and  slipped  in  between 
Jake  and  the  fire. 

"So;  you  think  I'm  a  humbug,  do  you?  Well, 
since  we  are  on  Humbug  and  on  humbugs,  what  are 
you,  sir?" 

The  idea  of  an  old  fire-shovel  walking  about  the 
room  and  punning  in  this  manner  was  too  much  for 
him ;  he  couldn't  answer  a  word. 

"You're  an  arrant  humbug  yourself,  Jake  Mor- 
ton," said  the  shovel,  answering  its  own  question. 
"And  now  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  good  it  would 
do  you  to  find  another  spot?" 

"I'd  go  back  home,"  responded  Jake. 

"Fudge!  why  didn't  you  go  when  you  had  fin- 
ished working  the  first  spot?" 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  113 

Jake  couldn't  form  a  suitable  answer,  so  the 
shovel  answered  for  him  again. 

"You  were  too  proud  to  do  it.  You  thought  you 
might  be  laughed  at  if  you  came  back  from  the 
golden  land  with  a  few  hundred  dollars.  You 
would  be  just  the  same  way  again.  You're  a  pretty 
good  fellow,  Jake,  and  generally  mean  well;  but 
you've  got  your  faults,  and  must  get  rid  of  them. 
You  must,  tomorrow,  commence  with  the  New 
Year  and  turn  over  a  new  leaf." 

Jake  did  not  know  whether  to  be  angry  or  not  at 
being  talked  to  in  such  plain  language.  But  he 
wisely  concluded  he  could  make  nothing  by  quar- 
reling with  the  old  blade,  so  he  held  his  peace. 

uYou  went  to  town  on  Christmas  day  and  took 
nine  dollars  with  you.  You  bought  a  piece  of  ham 
and  some  little  things  besides,  and  came  back 
1  broke.'  How  did  you  spend  your  money?" 

Jake  was  ashamed  to  answer.  But  his  com- 
panion seemed  to  read  his  thoughts  and  answered 
for  him,  as  usual. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Jacob.  You  bought  a  raffle  ticket 
for  something  you  couldn't  have  used  if  you  had 
won  it.  Then  you  fell  in  with  some  of  your  old 
chummies  and  treated  them.  To  wind  up  with,  you 
played  a  few  games  of  cards  for  the  drinks,  and 
came  home  without  a  cent." 


1 14  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

Jake  felt  that  he  could  not  dispute  a  word  that 
was  said. 

"And  I'm  sorry  to  say,  Jacob,  that  this  fault  is 
growing  on  you.  Once  you  played  these  social 
games  just  to  pass  away  time.  Now,  you  think 
that  a  glass  of  liquor  occasionally  does  you  good. 
In  this  way  you  squander  enough  every  year  to  take 
you  back  to  your  old  home,  where  loving  eyes  grow 
dim  watching  for  your  return.  Look  to  the  east." 

Jacob  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  indicated, 
and  looked  upon  a  scene  which  brought  his  heart  to 
his  lips.  It  seemed  as  though  the  broad  expanse  of 
mountain,  hill  and  plain  which  stretched  between 
him  and  his  former  home  had  been  leveled  down, 
and  while  every  landmark  of  the  long  and  tedious 
road  which  he  had  traveled  years  before  was 
marked  down  with  photographic  minuteness,  yet 
space  seemed  to  be  annihilated,  and  he  could  look 
into  the  old  farmhouse  of  his  parents  as  easily  as 
if  he  were  standing  at  the  kitchen  window.  It  was 
a  familiar  scene  to  him,  and  one  which  he  had  often 
recalled  in  imagination — an  old  couple  seated  at 
the  table — the  old  man  reading  aloud  from  a  news- 
paper, while  his  wife  plied  the  knitting  needles. 

As  Jacob  looked,  the  old  man  laid  down  the 
paper  and,  taking  off  his  spectacles,  drew  his  chair 
nearer  the  fire.  For  a  few  moments  there  was 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  115 

silence,  broken  only  by  the  click  of  the  knitting 
needles. 

"If  Jacob  was  only  with  us  tonight,"  said  the 
old  man,  half  to  himself  and  half  to  his  companion. 

The  knitting  work  fell  into  her  lap,  and  as  she 
bent  her  head  over  it  the  tears  flowed  steadily  upon 
it.  "Poor  boy,"  she  said  at  last;  "I  was  thinking 
of  him  all  day." 

"It  is  nigh  onto  fifteen  years  since  he  left  us, 
wife,"  said  the  old  man  after  a  little.  "He  was 
only  to  be  gone  three  years,  and  it's  stretched  out 
to  this  time." 

"It's  not  his  fault  that  he  hasn't  come,  I'll  be 
bound,"  said  the  mother,  coming  at  once  to  the 
defense  of  her  absent  boy.  "No,  indeed,  it  can- 
not be." 

"Maybe  not,  wife;  we'll  think  not  anyway.  I've 
sometimes  thought  that  if  Em'ly  had  waited  a  little 
longer,  it  might  have  been  the  means  of  drawin' 
him  back.  He  used  to  think  a  power  of  that  girl." 

"Emily  did  just  right,"  responded  his  wife.  "She 
waited  four  years,  and  that  is  long  enough  for  a  girl 
to  wait  for  anybody.  She  had  to  look  out  for  her- 
self after  her  father  died,  and  there  could  be  no 
home  like  her  own.  Suppose  she  had  waited  until 
now,  as  we  have  done." 


1 1 6  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

"Well,  I'm  not  blaming  the  girl,  wife;  I  was 
only  supposin'  a  case,  as  they  say.  Well,  God  bless 
him,  wherever  he  is." 

As  the  mother  uttered  a  fervent  "Amen,"  Jacob 
turned  his  head  to  wipe  the  tears  which  had  gath- 
ered in  his  own  eyes.  When  he  looked  again,  he 
saw  nothing  but  the  walls  of  his  cabin. 

"I'll  be  with  them,"  muttered  Jake,  clearing  his 
voice;  "they  won't  be  waiting  and  waiting  for  me 
on  another  New  Year's  eve." 

"Shall  I  show  you  anything  more?"  asked  his 
companion. 

"Anything  you  will,"  said  Jacob,  "what  you 
show  me  can  only  be  for  my  good." 

The  sides  of  the  cabin  opened  again,  and  he  saw 
that  he  was  gazing  down  upon  a  newly  settled  coun- 
try. Lofty  mountains  were  divided  by  valleys,  and 
he  could  see,  by  looking  closely  down  through  the 
branches  of  magnificent  forest  trees  which  cov- 
ered the  whole  face  of  the  land,  that  in  all  these 
valleys  where  streams  of  water  flowed,  bands  of 
men  wiere  at  work.  As  he  listened,  he  could  hear, 
in  the  hum  of  busy  industry,  which  rose  above  the 
forests,  the  dull  thud  of  the  pick,  the  sharper  clang 
of  the  shovel  and  the  rattle  of  the  rocker.  He 
looked  among  the  workers,  and  in  one  group  recog- 
nized his  own  form. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  1 17 

"That  was  a  scene  of  fifteen  years  ago,"  said  his 
companion.  "What  a  sturdy  lot  of  fellows  they 
are.  Young  men,  too,  nearly  all.  There's  hardly  a 
gray-beard  among  them.  Look  at  them  now." 

The  scene  changed  in  a  second's  space.  It  was 
easy  to  look  upon  it  now,  for  in  many  places  the 
forest  trees  had  been  swept  away  until  hardly  a 
good-sized  bush  remained.  Around  and  among 
these  denuded  spots  there  were  miners  still  at  work. 
Many  of  them  were  the  same  he  had  seen  when  he 
looked  before,  but  their  features  bore  the  marks  of 
premature  old  age,  and  their  faces  were  care-worn, 
as  if  hope  had  ceased  to  dwell  in  their  bosoms. 

"That  is  a  scene  of  today,"  said  the  shovel.  "Oh, 
Jacob  Morton,  what  have  you  to  show  for  those 
lost  fifteen  years?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Jacob. 

"Nothing.  Have  you  spent  fifteen  of  the  best 
years  of  the  brief  existence  allotted  to  man  amid 
scenes  like  these,  and  received  nothing  but  what 
has  fed  and  clothed  you?  Do  you  call  a  ruined 
constitution  and  failing  health  nothing?  You  have 
sown  in  the  storm  that  others  might  reap  in  the 
sunshine;  you,  and  those  others  whom  you  see  have 
by  their  toil  built  up  a  great  and  wealthy  State,  and 
yet  are  today  among  the  poorest  of  her  people. 
The  wealth  you  have  dug  from  the  ground  has 


1 1  8  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

gone  to  enrich  others,  and  now  that  old  age  is 
creeping  on  you  all,  what  is  to  be  the  end?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  said  Jacob. 

"I  can,"  said  his  companion.  "Look  once  more 
at  what  the  end  will  be  fifteen  years  in  the  future." 

Jacob  looked  and  saw  before  him  a  large  build- 
ing, which  he  knew  at  once  was  maintained  at  pub- 
lic expense.  Half  a  dozen  or  more,  whose  features 
were  familiar  to  him  as  men  who  had  been  his  min- 
ing comrades  in  former  years,  were  seated  before  its 
doors.  Apart  from  those  were  two  others,  who 
seemed  to  be  connected  with  the  establishment. 
They  were  joined  by  a  third. 

"Well,  how's  the  Forty-niner  now?"  was  asked 
of  the  newcomer. 

"Oh,  he's  gone  at  last,"  was  the  reply. 

"The  best  thing  that  could  have  happened  him. 
He  was  a  hard  working  man  until  they  brought 
him  here,  and  although  he  wasn't  a  lucky  miner,  if 
he  had  only  taken  care  of  what  he  did  make,  would 
have  never  been  brought  here  at  all.  But  he  had  his 
"forty-nine"  habits  to  the  last,  and  never  seemed  to 
realize  how  times  had  changed.  Well,  let's  get  rid 
of  him  at  once." 

They  entered  the  building,  and  in  a  brief 
space  of  time  re-appeared,  bearing  a  rude,  pine 
coffin.  Jacob  could  look  within  it  and  see  his  own 
features.  His  old  companions  fell  into  the  pro- 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  119 

cession,  and  hobbling  to  the  burying  ground,  stood 
by  while  the  coffin  was  being  lowered  into  the  grave. 

"Fill  it  up  quick,  boys.  Chuck  in  that  big  rock 
there ;  anything  to  get  him  out  of  the  way." 

The  rock  came  down  with  a  deafening  crash — 
and  Jacob  Morton  awoke.  Awoke  to  find  the  fire 
had  burned  down  to  a  few  ashy  coals,  while  a  sen- 
sation of  coldness  pervaded  his  frame;  awoke  with 
such  a  strong  conviction  of  the  reality  of  what  he 
had  seen,  that  it  was  some  minutes  before  he  could 
bring  himself  to  believe  that  it  was  an  illusion. 
Awoke  with  that  strange,  instinctive  consciousness 
of  impending  danger  which  often  comes  upon  us, 
even  when  we  have  not  the  least  idea  of  from  what 
quarter  the  danger  may  come. 

"Well,  well,  well!  if  this  don't  bang  everything 
in  the  line  of  dreaming  that  ever  I  experienced,  may 
I  be  darned,"  muttered  Jake,  as  he  groped  for  a 
match  to  re-light  the  candle.  "Old  shovel,"  he  con- 
tinued affectionately  apostrophizing  that  instru- 
ment, "if  I  ever  do  get  to  a  Christian  land  again, 
I'll  take  you  along  and  keep  you  in  a  glass  case; 
I  will,  darn  me  if  I  don't." 

He  was  so  tender  of  the  old,  blackened  blade, 
that  he  would  not  even  rake  the  dying  embers  of  the 
fire  together  with  it,  as  had  been  his  wont,  but 
poked  them  up  in  a  heap  with  a  stick.  Then  he 


I2O  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

threw  on  a  little  light  wood  and  settled  down  in 
the  easy  chair  again. 

He  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  and  smoked  some- 
time in  silence.  Meantime  the  conviction  of  ap- 
proaching danger  grew  stronger  upon  him  and  was 
not  to  be  shaken  off. 

"What  in  thunder  ails  me?"  he  muttered  again; 
"has  that  confounded  dream  had  such  an  effect  on 
me  as  this?  It  seems  strange  that  the  gulch  don't 
make  any  more  noise;  it  was  roaring  like  a  cat- 
aract when  I  went  to  sleep.  The  storm  has  stopped, 
but  the  stream  hadn't  ought  to  run  down  as  quick 
as  this." 

He  hastily  put  on  his  slippers  (made  of  a  pair  of 
old  boots  which  had  been  cut  off  at  the  instep)  and, 
throwing  his  coat  over  his  shoulders,  took  the  can- 
dle and  stepped  out  of  doors.  There  was  a  well- 
beaten  path  to  the  gulch  over  which  he  had  carried 
the  water  for  household  use  for  years.  A  few  steps 
brought  him  to  the  bed,  and  he  held  up  his  hand  in 
wonder  at  the  sight.  Where  had  been  a  foaming 
torrent  a  few  hours  before  he  could  now  cross,  by 
stepping  from  stone  to  stone,  without  wetting  his 
slippered  feet.  Jake  comprehended  the  situation 
at  once. 

"There's  been  a  slide  up  the  canyon,"  he  solilo- 
quized, "and  a  big  one,  too,  or  it  would  never  have 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  121 

shut  off  the  water  so  dry.    I  must  travel  out  of  this 


at  once." 


As  he  came  up  on  the  flat  again,  he  cast  an  in- 
voluntary glance  up  the  canyon  he  had  spoken  of. 
Instead  of  the  gap  which  had  marked  the  spot 
before,  it  looked  like  a  mountain  wall  all  the  way 
across.  It  had  been  the  roar  of  this  earth  avalanche 
which  had  roused  him  from  his  dream. 

Entering  the  cabin,  he  hastily  made  a  couple  of 
bundles  of  things  most  valuable  and  useful  to  him, 
and  swinging  them  on  the  old  shovel,  Chinaman 
fashion,  he  issued  forth.  He  was  not  a  moment 
too  soon,  for  at  the  first  glance  he  saw  that  the 
pent-up  waters  from  above  were  already  breaking 
through  their  barrier,  and  that  in  a  few  minutes  the 
whole  vast  mass  would  move  upon  the  spot  where 
he  was  standing.  Seizing  his  bundles,  he  climbed 
the  mountain  side  to  a  safe  place,  and  sat  down  to 
await  the  result.  And  now  the  whole  mass  was  in 
motion,  creeping  slowly,  bodily  down  the  gulch. 
A  moment  more,  as  the  wet  earth  settled  down,  the 
waters  began  to  pour  over  the  summit  and  tear  a 
channel  down  through  the  center.  As  the  volume 
of  water  increased  and  the  channel  deepened,  great 
trees  fell  in  from  either  side,  snapping  off  like  pipe- 
stems,  while  huge  boulders  were  caught  up  by  the 
roaring  waters  and  swept  away  like  bunches  of 
foam.  While  the  top  of  the  slide  was  thus  being 


122  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

torn  to  pieces,  the  whole,  pressed  on  by  the  weight 
of  the  lake  above,  moved  down  the  gulch  with  in- 
creasing speed.  The  cabin  withstood  its  force  for 
a  moment — and  for  a  moment  only — then  its  logs 
were  torn  asunder  and  it  moved  on  with  the  rest. 
It  was  a  grand  sight,  yet  terrible  in  its  grandeur. 

For  an  hour  Jake  sat  and  watched  the  scene,  by 
which  time  the  waters  had  spent  their  force.  Then 
he  shouldered  his  bundles  and  made  his  way  down 
the  gulch  to  where  there  were  some  old  cabins,  in 
one  of  which  he  left  his  load  and  thence  made  his 
way  to  town.  To  say  that  Jake  felt  down-hearted 
at  this  sudden  turn  in  his  affairs  would  not  fully 
describe  his  feelings.  To  borrow  his  own  language, 
he  "felt  worse  at  being  driven  out  of  Humbug  in 
this  manner  than  he  did  when  he  first  left  home. 
You  see,"  added  Jake,  explainingly,  "when  I  left 
home  to  come  here,  I  was  young  and  buoyant  with 
health  and  hope ;  I  had  the  world  before  me  and  it 
seemed  impossible  that  I  should  fail  of  success. 
Now,  I've  been  here  on  the  gulch  so  long  that  it 
seems  more  like  home  to  me  than  anywhere  else  that 
I've  got  the  means  to  go  to."  There  is  more  than 
one  miner  that  we  know  of,  Jake,  that  could  talk 
exactly  as  you  do. 

There  was  no  lack  of  sympathy  for  him  among 
his  brother  miners,  when  it  became  known  that  his 
cabin  had  been  swept  away  by  the  slide.  It  took  a 


THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH  123 

substantial  form,  too,  for  he  had  a  dozen  offers  of 
a  chance  to  camp  with  one  and  another,  until  he 
saw  an  opportunity  to  do  better.  One  of  these 
offers  he  gladly  accepted,  and  went  over  to  get  the 
things  that  he  had  left  in  the  deserted  cabin,  scat- 
tered along  the  gulch,  and  take  a  last  look  at  his  old 
home. 

He  hardly  knew  the  once  familiar  place.  Where 
the  waters  of  the  gulch  had  run  on  the  night  where 
he  stood  in  his  slippers  and  looked  down  on  its 
empty  bed,  was  now  piled  many  feet  deep  with  the 
red  mountain  earth,  while  the  stream  itself,  turned 
from  its  original  course,  had  cut  a  new  channel 
through  the  little  flat  on  which  the  cabin  and  garden 
patch  had  stood.  Jake  could  not  bear  to  look  on 
his  desolated  home,  and  hastened  away. 

The  little  good  fortune  he  had  while  on  Humbug 
seemed  to  have  deserted  him  in  his  new  locality,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  the  thought  of  that  "lost 
lead"  on  Humbug  became  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 
How  prone  old  miners  are  to  wander,  perhaps  many 
miles  away  from  some  scene  of  their  earlier  experi- 
ences, be  gone  perchance  for  years,  and  then  return 
to  work  some  spot  which  they  had  had  in  their 
mind's  eye  through  all  their  wanderings !  Thus  it 
was  with  Jake,  who,  with  the  return  of  spring, 
wended  his  way  back  to  Humbug.  But  he  was 
more  fortunate  than  his  class  in  general,  for  under 


124  THE  LEGEND  OF  HUMBUG  GULCH 

the  site  of  his  former  house  in  the  new  channel  of 
the  gulch,  he  found,  not  the  lost  lead  of  Humbug, 
but  a  fair-paying  claim,  from  which,  by  a  summer's 
work  and  the  practice  of  a  better  economy  than  that 
to  which  he  had  been  used,  he  laid  by  enough  to 
keep  the  promise  he  had  made  in  his  dream,  and 
return  to  the  old  homestead  before  another  New 
Year's  eve. 

Whether  Mr.  Morton,  after  his  return,  found 
some  fair  one  to  take  that  place  in  his  heart  once 
held  by  the  perfidious  Emily  this  legend  sayeth 
not,  but  from  the  opinion  which  I  entertain  of  man 
in  general  I  am  inclined  to  believe  he  did.  I  am 
confirmed  in  this  view  of  the  case  by  the  fact  that, 
for  awhile  he  kept  writing  about  coming  back,  but 
in  his  last  letter  to  a  Slabtown  chum,  he  tells  him 
that  if  he'd  go  to  Humbug  and  run  a  drift  one 
hundred  feet  into  Gas  Point  he  will  strike  that  lead 
which  the  Fleming  brothers  had,  sure. 


THE  JOES 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  describe,  with  minute 
particularity  either  the  "Joes,"  or  the  place  where 
they  had  found  an  abiding  place,  temporary  at 
first,  but  which  bid  fair  to  become  a  permanent  one 
as  the  years  rolled  on  and  still  found  them  in  the 
old  spot.  The  Joes  were  characters  in  their  way. 
Pew,  if  any,  of  their  neighbors  could  have  given 
any  designation  of  them,  other  than  I  have 
given.  There  was  a  tradition,  current  among 
the  inhabitants  of  Last  Chance,  that  at  one 
time  the  storekeeper  had  kept  an  account  against 
"Bagley  &  Co.,"  for  the  two  Joes,  but  which  was 
Biagley,  and  which  the  "Co.,"  was  a  thing  the  wi- 
sest inhabitant  of  Last  Chance  would  have  hesitated 
to  declare.  It  was  even  hinted  that  Cale  Durkee, 
who  had  acted  as  clerk  of  the  election  board  for  a 
number  of  years  successively,  had  written  down 
their  names,  but  as  the  Joes  had  not  voted  for  a 
number  of  years,  for  reasons  we  will  hereafter  ex- 
plain, and  as  Cale  professed  to  have  forgotten  the 
names  in  the  flurry  of  the  occasion,  his  superior  op- 
portunities for  knowledge  were  lost  to  the  com- 
munity. 


126  THE    JOES 

In  personal  features  and  build,  the  Joes  were 
very  much  alike,  as  also  in  respect  to  age,  both  be- 
ing somewhere  along  the  middle  thirties.  Each  re- 
joiced in  the  possession  of  a  full  and  flowing 
beard,  but  as  the  beard  of  one  was  a  dark  brown 
while  that  of  the  other  was  inclined  to  be  sandy, 
this  distinguishing  trait  was  sufficient  to  suggest 
proper  appellations,  so,  while  they  were  collectively 
spoken  of  as  the  Joes,  the  respective  members  of  the 
firm  were  on  occasions  known  as  "Brown  Joe,"  and 
"Sandy  Joe."  Rumor  further  had  it,  upon  the  au- 
thority of  the  ubiquitous  John  Smith,  who  was 
looked  upon  in  our  town  as  the  political  oracle,  that 
Brown  Joe  was  a  rank  Democrat  of  the  Secession 
stripe,  and  Sandy  Joe,  the  blackest,  of  Black  Re- 
publicans. But  this  disagreement  of  political  opin- 
ion was  by  no  means  the  cause  of  strife  between 
them,  as  neither  tried  to  convert  the  other,  in  fact, 
it  was  a  positive  advantage  in  one  way,  for  it  kept 
them  from  being  "electioneered"  by  the  local  can- 
didates, as  the  vote  of  one  would  generally  offset 
that  of  the  other  and  so,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they 
generally  stayed  at  home  and  worked  in  the  claim, 
or  at  some  other  job  on  hand,  leaving  the  destinies 
of  this  great  republic  to  be  settled  by  those  sov- 
ereigns not  so  happily  situated. 

It  was  on  Christmas  Day,  that  some  of  the 
events  which  go  to  make  up  the  thread  of  this 


THE    JOES  127 

eventful  story  transpired  and  the  Joes  were  in  their 
cabin.  A  nice  little  cabin  it  was,  too,  located  in 
the  center  of  a  piece  of  creek  bottom  land  which 
the  judicious  husbandry  of  Brown  Joe  had  caused 
to  bring  forth  huge  cabbages,  great  rutabagas, 
gigantic  squashes  and  all  sorts  of  "garden  truck" 
in  its  season.  The  Joes,  as  we  have  said,  were  in 
their  cabin,  for  there  was  no  thought,  of  course, 
of  going  into  the  claim  to  work  on  that  day.  They 
had  read  and  re-read  the  last  papers,  talked  out 
every  subject  which  presented  itself  to  their  minds, 
and  at  last,  relapsed  into  smoke  and  silence. 

"Joe."     It  was  Brown  Joe  who  spoke. 

"Well,  Joe;  what  is  it?" 

"What  shall  we  have  for  dinner?" 

Sandy  Joe  at  once  went  into  deep  meditation  on 
the  momentous  question  thus  presented.  Finally 
he  took  out  his  pipe,  knocked  out  the  ashes  on  the 
rocks  of  the  fireplace  and  answered,  half  respon- 
sively,  half  inquiringly: 

"Oysters?" 

"Oysters  be  hanged,"  said  Brown  Joe. 

It  is  my  desire  to  be  truthful  in  this  report  of  the 
dialogue  between  the  respective  partners,  so  I  put 
in  Brown's  exact  words,  though  I  must  say  they 
were  uttered  with  more  than  necessary  emphasis. 
Sandy  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  and  only 
grinned. 


128  THE    JOES 

"Oysters  are  fa'r  grub,  when  you've  got  plenty 
of  fresh  milk  an'  the  right  kind  of  crackers,  which 
we  hain't;  but  I  ain't  much  stuck  on  the  dern 
things  at  any  time.  I'd  rather  have  a  piece  of  fresh 
po'k  any  day." 

"Perhaps  the  widow  will  send  us  another  mince 
pie,"  suggested  the  other. 

"The  widow  be ,"  retorted  Brown  Joe, 

with  more  emphasis  than  before,  and  truthful  as  I 
may  desire  to  be,  I  shall  stamp  my  disapproval  of 
his  language  by  refusing  it  a  place  in  this  history. 

Sandy  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  gave  a  huge 
guffaw,  in  which,  after  a  little,  his  partner  joined. 

"The  widder  thought  she  was  playin'  it  mighty 
sharp,"  continued  Brown.  "When  she  seed  me, 
she  sorter  hinted  I  was  the  chap  on  whose  account 
them  pies  was  sent,  but  when  she  seed  you,  why 
you  was  the  chap  and  it  was  all  right  until  we  got 
to  comparin'  notes,  an'  then  she  was  played  out 
with  both  of  us." 

Sandy  grinned  as  if  in  approval  of  his  partner's 
remarks. 

"Widders  is  queer  critters,"  continued  Brown 
Joe,  reflectively.  "Now,  this  un  is  ready  to  share 
either  on  us  for  life,  with  a  pretty  fa'r  sized  family 
to  start  with.  An'  it  ain't  the  fust  time  I've  had  a 
chance  to  take  the  place  of  the  dear  departed.  I 
remember  onct,  back  in  Missoury,  about " 


THE    JOES  129 

But  Sandy  had  heard  the  story  of  his  partner's 
narrow  escape  about  forty  times,  already,  and  we 
all  know  that  the  best  of  stones  will  be  spoiled  by 
telling  them  too  often  to  the  same  person.  So  he 
incontinently  disappeared  into  the  next  room  and 
we  were  thus  cruelly  bereft  of  the  benefit  of  Brown 
Joe's  experience  with  the  widow  of  Pike. 

Sandy  soon  reappeared,  equipped  with  a  hunt- 
ing bag  and  shotgun,  the  last  of  which  he  pro- 
ceeded carefully  to  load,  explaining  as  he  did  so, 
that  he  had  three  or  four  times  lately  scared  up  a 
flock  of  quail  at  the  head  of  Dutch  Ravine,  and  if 
he  could  come  across  them  today,  he  could  furnish 
material  for  a  dinner  fit  for  any  day,  only  it  would 
have  to  be  a  little  late. 

"I  thought  about  them,"  said  Brown,  "but  I 
never  could  shoot  one  of  them  scatterguns  and  the 
durned  things  won't  sit  still  long  enough  to  pick 
their  heads  off  with  a  rifle.  Howsomever,  you  get 
the  quail,  and  I'll  get  everything  else  ready,  an' 
we'll  have  as  good  a  feed  as  any  on  'em." 

Sandy  departed  on  his  murderous  mission,  and 
Brown,  good  as  his  word,  began  at  once  to  get  the 
other  things  in  readiness.  The  remnants  of  the 
morning  meal  were  put  into  the  frying  pan  ready 
to  "warm  up,"  the  potatoes  were  peeled  and 
sliced,  the  coffee  ground  and  Brown  Joe,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  accomplished  his  mission  in 


130  THE    JOES 

this  world,  seated  himself  in  the  rocking  chair  after 
fishing  up  an  old  copy  of  Harper's  and  patiently 
awaited  his  partner's  return. 

Joe  searched  in  vain  through  the  columns  of  the 
old  magazine  to  see  if  he  could  find  something 
which  had  been  overlooked  before,  but  I  am  sorry 
to  say  without  success.  As  a  matter  of  course  he 
did  the  next  best  thing  to  do,  and  fell  asleep  in  the 
chair,  sleeping  so  soundly  that  he  did  not  hear  a 
wagon  drive  up  and  stop  in  the  road  opposite  their 
door.  Even  when  a  large  trunk  was  brought  and 
placed  in  the  porch,  and  a  woman's  voice  outside 
should  have  been  distinctly  heard,  he  had  only  an 
indistinct  idea  of  what  was  transpiring  and  fell  to 
dreaming  that  the  widow  was  about  to  make  a  coup 
d'etat  upon  him  in  his  partner's  absence.  It  was 
not  until  there  came  a  loud,  clear  knock  at  the  door, 
that  Joe  awoke  shivering,  for  during  his  long  slum- 
ber the  fire  had  burned  quite  low. 

"Knock  away,  gol  durn  yer,"  growled  Joe,  his 
thoughts  at  once  reverting  to  his  dream.  But  when 
the  knock  was  repeated,  Joe  saw  that  he  might  as 
well  face  the  music  at  once,  so  he  called  out: 
"Come  in." 

Instead  of  obeying  the  direction  given,  there 
came  another  knock.  Joe  got  up  unwillingly  and 
moved  toward  the  door,  growling  at  every  step  he 
took.  But  when  he  reached  and  opened  the  door 


"Why  don't  you  ask  me  to  come  in?     It  makes  no  difference, 
for  I'm   coming  anyway."      (See  page   131.) 


THE    JOES  131 

he  saw  a  sight  which  well  might  cause  him  to  start 
back  in  surprise.  Instead  of  the  widow  and  her 
"tribe,"  as  he  looked  for,  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
fair  form  and  features  of  a  young  lady  of,  perhaps, 
twenty  summers,  who  looked  up  at  him  with  an 
amused,  expectant  smile,  which  Joe  afterwards  de- 
clared "took  the  breath  plumb  out  of  him." 

"Beg  pardon,  ma'am;  I  didn't  know — the  fact 

is  I  thought  it  was ,"  and  Joe  stopped,  not 

knowing  what  to  say ;  a  practice  we  consider  a  very 
good  one  and  hereby  recommend  to  our  readers. 

"Well,  Mr.  Joe,  have  you  forgot  all  your  man- 
ners in  this  country?  Why  don't  you  ask  me  to 
come  in?  It  makes  no  difference,  for  I'm  coming 
anyway,"  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the 
fairy  planked  herself  down  in  the  very  rocking 
chair  which  Joe  had  just  vacated,  and,  suggesting 
that  her  ride  had  been  a  cold  one,  mildly  hinted 
that  a  little  more  fire  would  be  acceptable. 

Joe  started  for  the  woodshed  and  then  for  the 
first  time  saw  the  traveling  equipments  on  the 
porch.  This  palled  him  worse  than  ever.  "Looks 
as  if  she  had  come  to  stay.  Why  didn't  I  go  huntin' 
and  leave  Sandy  here  to  entertain  these  stray  wo- 
men what  come  along?  And  she  had  my  name 
pat,  too.  Dang  it;  I  wish  Sandy  would  come 
home;  it's  about  time  for  him.  Danged  if  I  can 
make  it  out." 


132  THE    JOES 

Joe  finished  his  soliloquy  and  coming  in  replen- 
ished the  fire,  then  taking  a  seat  in  front  of  his 
strange  visitor,  he  watched  her  in  silence. 

ujoe,  you  dear,  old  fellow;  don't  you  know 
me?"  And  before  Joe  could  realize  what  she  was 
about,  she  had  fastened  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  after  two  or  three  warm  kisses,  which  poor  Joe 
endured  passively,  she  burst  into  a  spell  of  crying. 

"I  meant  to  take  you  by  surprise,  Joe;  and  I  did 
it,  didn't  I?  After  father  died,  I  told  mother  I 
was  going  to  come  here  and  bring  you  home  again. 
You'll  go  with  me,  won't  you,  Joe?" 

Joe  didn't  know  what  to  say,  but  felt  that  he 
must  say  something.  So  he  faintly  responded: 
"Maybe — some  of  these  days." 

"After  a  while  when  you  get  the  claim  all 
worked  out.  Yes,  Joe.  I'll  keep  house  for  you 
'till  then,  you  don't  know  what  a  famous  house- 
keeper I've  got  to  be,  Joe.  You'd  hardly  think  it 
of  the  little  girl  you  left  at  home  when  you  went 
off  to  that  horrid  war  with  Mexico,  and  never  came 
back  again.  Now,  Joe,  I'll  just  get  rid  of  my  trav- 
eling dress  and  then  we'll  have  a  great  talk.  Just 
help  me  fetch  in  my  trunk,  that's  a  good  fellow." 

Joe  obeyed  mechanically,  then  went  outside  and 
relapsed  into  a  deep  train  of  thought.  "Can't  see 
into  this,  by  a  doggoned  sight.  She  knows  me, 
knows  my  name  and  knows  I  went  off  with  Doni- 


THE    JOES  133 

phan's  boys  to  Mexico,  but,  danged  if  I  know  her. 
I  wonder  if  I  ain't  dead  and  this  is  the  first  taste  of 
heaven?  Or  maybe,  I'm  only  asleep  and  dream- 
ing all  this  just  for  a  slant."  Joe  had  picked  up  a 
broken  hoe  handle  in  his  reverie  and  was  twirling 
it  when  it  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  lighting 
squarely  on  his  pet  corn,  convinced  him  that  he  was 
not  only  alive,  but  thoroughly  awake.  As  he  gave 
a  suppressed  howl  of  anguish,  the  door  opened  and 
his  sphinx  came  forth. 

"And  I  may  have  a  flower  garden  in  the  spring, 
too,  Joe,  if  we  stay  here;  can't  I?" 

"Oh,  sartin." 

"And  where  shall  I  have  it?  I  shall  want  you 
to  go  to  work  on  it  early  in  the  spring." 

"Oh,  anywhere  you  like,"  said  Joe,  desperately. 
"Alongside  the  trail  thar  or  anywhere  else.  You 
can  put  the  posies  wherever  you  like." 

"You  dear,  good  fellow,"  said  the  girl,  and 
again  a  pair  of  soft  arms  were  entwined  about  his 
neck  and  a  pair  of  rosy  lips  pressed  to  his  own. 
Let  us  here  record  that  Joe  did  not  submit  to  this 
as  passively  as  he  had  at  first.  The  wicked  fellow 
just  knew  there  was  some  mistake,  but  was  too 
kind-hearted  to  tell  her  of  it  just  yet. 

"Hello,  there;  what's  all  this?  Ain't  you  folks 
cutting  things  a  little  fat?"  broke  in  a  voice  at  a 


134  THE  JOES 

distance.  They  looked  and  saw  Sandy  returning 
with  the  shotgun  and  two  or  three  quail. 

"It's  my  pardner,"  explained  Brown  Joe. 

"So  you  did  write  to  us  that  you  had  a  partner, 
and  a  real  good  fellow  you  said  he  was,  too.  Do 
you  know,  Joe,  I  think  I'll  fall  desperately  in  love 
with  him,  just  because  he  is  your  partner?" 

Sandy,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  reached  the  porch 
where  they  were  standing,  and  looked  curiously  at 
the  pair.  Brown  was  covered  with  confusion  at 
the  situation,  but  nevertheless  attempted  to  per- 
form the  ceremony  of  introduction. 

"This  is  my  pard,  Miss,"  said  Brown.  "Sandy 
we  call  him  for  short.  This,  pard,  is  a  young  lady 
who  has  favored  us  with  a  visit.  Don't  know  her 
name,  or  I  would  tell  yer." 

"Don't  know  my  name?"  cried  the  young  girl, 
with  a  merry  laugh.  "Perhaps  you  don't  know 
your  own,  either?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  returned  Joe,  stoutly.  "My  name  is 
Joe  Bagley,  in  any  place." 

"And  yours?"  she  asked,  turning  to  his  com- 
panion. 

"My  name  is  Joe  Semple,"  said  Sandy. 

The  young  lady  did  not  faint.  Far  from  it.  She 
simply  gave  poor  Brown  Joe  a  look  which  made 
him  shrink  in  his  boots,  and  turning  to  his  partner, 


THE    JOES  135 

said:  "Joe,  I  am  your  sister,  Rosa."  Then  she 
walked  into  the  house,  followed  by  Sandy. 

"I  guess  I'd  better  make  tracks  for  town  and 
speak  for  grub  at  Old  Storms'  hash  house  for  a 
while  the  way  things  look,"  muttered  Brown  Joe, 
when  they  had  been  gone  a  few  minutes.  In  pur- 
suance of  this  laudable  intention  he  had  reached 
the  road  and  was  about  starting  down  it  when  his 
partner's  voice  was  heard : 

"Which  way,  Joe?" 

"Down  to  the  Burg." 

"Now,  don't  be  a  durned  fool.  Come  back 
here.  We'll  all  go  pretty  soon  and  make  some  tem- 
porary arrangements  to  stay  there  till  we  can  get 
things  fixed  up  to  keep  her  here.  Come  back,  I 
say." 

********* 

In  a  little  community  like  Last  Chance,  where 
there  is  no  daily  arrival  of  the  stage,  no  rush  and 
roar  as  the  train  comes  puffing  up  to  the  depot ;  no 
telegraph  to  give  us  news  of  what  is  transpiring  in 
the  outside  world,  the  inhabitants,  for  the  want  of 
something  else  to  talk  about,  must  of  necessity, 
talk  about  each  other.  Having  thus  given  a  reason 
for  the  amount  of  local  gossip  which  is  to  be  found 
in  every  country  town,  we  have  paved  the  way  for 
stating  that  the  tongue  of  innocent  gossip  found 


136  THE    JOES 

rich  theme  in  the  acts  of  Brown  Joe  during  the  year 
following  the  Christmas  Day  we  have  spoken  of. 
It  was  first  a  subject  of  gossip  that  Brown  Joe  had 
taken  extensively  to  the  wearing  of  "biled  shirts," 
when  in  the  judgment  of  many  of  his  mining  con- 
freres he  looked  much  better  in  a  gray  one.  There 
were  several  other  articles  of  personal  adornment 
which  Mr.  Bagley  indulged  in,  each  of  which,  in 
turn  became  the  subject  of  invidious  comment.  But 
when  John  Smith  came  to  the  front  again,  with  the 
astonishing  information  that  Brown  Joe  was  actu- 
ally going  to  "split"  his  ticket  at  the  coming  elec- 
tion, the  quid  nuncs  took  the  matter  into  serious 
consideration  and  unanimously  resolved  that 
Brown  Joe  was  "stuck  to  death  after  his  pard's 
sister,"  and  that  was  what  was  the  matter  with  Joe. 
So  far  as  the  voting  part  was  concerned  I  don't 
think  the  aforesaid  quid  nuncs  reached  a  wise  con- 
clusion, simply  for  the  reason  that  when  a  man  gets 
older  he  generally  has  more  sense,  no  matter  what 
his  politics  are,  and  besides,  women  don't  often 
bother  themselves  about  politics,  outside  of  Wyom- 
ing. But  otherwise  I  am  inclined  to  think,  in  the 
light  of  subsequent  events,  they  were  correct.  At 
any  rate,  the  conclusion  first  came  to  by  Sandy  Joe 
and  his  sister,  that  they  would  go  back  to  "Sucker- 
dom"  the  next  year,  was  entirely  abandoned,  and 
from  some  observations  made  to  me  by  Brown  Joe, 


THE    JOES  137 

just  before  I  left  Last  Chance  for  Scrubb's  Dig- 
gings, I  felt  satisfied  that  my  worthy  friend 
thought  it  was  himself,  and  himself  only,  who  had 
persuaded  Rosa  to  stay. 


CYRUS    BILLINGS'   DREAM 

The  storms  of  the  winter  had  set  in  at  last,  and 
the  pitiless  manner  in  which  the  rains  were  poured 
upon  the  earth's  surface  indicated  that  the  clouds 
were  making  up  for  the  long  delay.  Already  each 
little  gulch  and  mountain  swale  was  sending  down 
its  tributary  stream  to  swell  the  torrent  which 
foamed  and  roared  as  it  sped  on  its  way  to  old 
Ocean. 

In  such  a  day,  humanity  studied  its  comfort  by 
remaining  within  doors,  and  it  was  only  the  unfor- 
tunate possessors  of  claims  in  the  extreme  dry  dig- 
gings who  were  out  at  labor  in  the  storm,  for  with 
them,  the  reverse  of  the  maxim,  "Make  hay  while 
the  sun  shines"  obtained.  But  the  gloomy  weather 
did  not  bring  a  corresponding  feeling  of  gloom  to 
the  hearts  of  the  mining  gentry  of  Central  Hill. 
No,  no;  for  they  had  watched  the  skies  anxiously 
for  weeks  past,  and  now  the  roar  of  the  wind 
through  the  pine  forests  and  the  beating  of  the  rain 
against  the  window  pane  was  sweet  music  to  their 
ears. 

And  to  none  did  the  sound  of  the  beating 
storm  come  more  sweetly  than  to  Cy.  Billings. 


140  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

And  well  it  might  be  so,  for  Mr.  Billings  was  one 
of  the  mining  princes  of  Central  Hill.  Rain  meant 
an  increased  water  supply  and  more  water  meant 
more  golddust  for  him.  What  he  wanted  of  more 
dust,  except  to  pile  away  with  the  thousands  he 
already  must  have  in  some  safe  place,  was  more 
than  his  most  intimate  acquaintance  could  have  con- 
jectured. A  covetous,  grasping  man,  yet  not 
miserly  (for  he  never  stinted  himself),  without 
wife,  parent  or  kindred,  it  seemed  as  if  the  gifts  of 
God  were  misdirected,  when  such  continued  good 
fortune  followed  one  who  used  them  for  himself 
alone,  while  others,  more  worthy  and  more  needy, 
struggled  along,  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  as  the 
saying  goes,  though  long  hours  of  toil  in  the  heat 
of  summer  and  storms  of  winter  should  have 
brought  them  better  fate. 

Yet,  he  had  not  always  been  thus.  Tradition, 
faint,  'tis  true,  yet  still  extant,  though  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  tell  the  authority  upon  which  it 
rested,  told  of  a  time  when  Cyrus  Billings  was  a 
generous,  warm-hearted  fellow,  happy  in  the  love 
of  a  beautiful  girl,  who  had  promised  to  become  his 
wife  at  a  time  in  the  near  future.  Already  they 
had  fixed  upon  the  place  of  their  future  home,  a 
neat  little  cottage  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  where 
the  dark  spruce  trees  cast  their  grateful  shade 
throughout  the  heated  summer  days,  while  in  the 


CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM  141 

springtime  the  fragrant  bloom  of  the  thickly  grow- 
ing lilacs  perfumed  the  air  and  gladdened  the 
vision.  But  Death  tore  his  promised  bride  from 
his  outstretched  arms,  and  in  a  few  days  more 
came  the  news  that  the  bank  in  which  he  had  de- 
posited his  savings  while  preparing  for  the  new  life 
in  contemplation,  had  failed  and  left  him  penni- 
less. For  a  time  he  left  the  place,  whose  associ- 
ations were  fraught  with  so  much  of  both  sorrow 
and  joy,  and  when  months  afterwards  he  came 
back,  he  was  an  altered  man.  Then  it  was  that  he 
found  the  claim  on  Central  Hill  which  yielded 
largely  from  the  first.  But,  except  that  he  sur- 
rounded himself  with  more  comforts  than  your 
ordinary  miner  cares  to  have,  his  wealth  did  him 
little  good. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  storm,  but  Cyrus,  ab- 
sorbed in  reading  one  of  the  many  books  with 
which  his  cabin  was  supplied,  did  not  notice  it. 
Pleased  that  matters  were  progressing  so  well  to 
his  interest  he  had  fallen  into  a  reverie,  from  which 
he  was  only  aroused  by  a  light  tap  at  the  door  of 
his  cabin.  Wondering  who  and  what  business  any 
one  could  have  with  him  that  could  bring  them 
out  on  such  a  day  as  this  had  been,  he  opened  the 
door,  and  saw  three  ladies  standing  on  the  porch. 
With  two  of  these  ladies  he  was  acquainted,  they 
being  the  wives  of  the  storekeeper  and  blacksmith, 


142  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

with  whom  he  generally  did  business,  but  the  third 
he  had  never  seen. 

"Why,  ladies!"  exclaimed  Cyrus,  astonished  at 
the  sight,  as  well  he  might  be.  "Come  in  quick, 
and  get  as  near  the  fire  as  you  can."  And  Cyrus 
stirred  the  embers  in  the  fire-place,  put  on  a  few 
light  sticks  and  soon  had  a  cheerful  blaze  send- 
ing a  ruddy  warmth  to  the  chilled  frames  of  his 
guests. 

The  ladies  were  not  slow  in  following  his  direc- 
tions, and  in  due  time  Cyrus  was  introduced  to  the 
stranger  guest,  who  proved  to  be  the  sister  of  an 
old  partner  of  Cyrus. 

"Our  call  is  quite  unlocked  for,  is  it  not,  Mr* 
Billings?"  inquired  Mrs.  Simcoe,  the  blacksmith's 
wife. 

"Quite,  indeed,"  responded  that  gentleman. 
"This  is  not  a  day  for  any  one  to  be  out  of  doors." 

"We  went  up  to  Forest  Ridge  this  morning 
when  it  looked  pleasant,  and  have  been  detained 
there  by  the  storm.  We  took  advantage  of  the  lull 
to  start  for  home,  and  as  your  house  was  one  we 
designed  visiting,  stopped  here  on  our  way  back. 
We  are  out  on  a  mission  of  charity." 

At  the  mention  of  this  ominous  word  Mr.  Bil- 
lings knit  his  brows,  but  showed  no  further  interest, 
so  the  speaker,  after  a  moment  continued: 


CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM  143 

"It  is  coming  on  to  the  days  when  all  should  re- 
joice and  be  happy;  but,  in  the  dispensations  of 
Providence,  it  is  so  fated  that  all  cannot.  It  is  for 
those  who  can  to  supply  from  their  abundance, 
that  those  who  have  not  may  feel  that  they  are  not 
altogether  forgotten.  This  paper  will  show  you 
more  fully  what  we  intend." 

Cyrus  took  the  proffered  paper  mechanically  and 
glanced  at  it.  It  set  forth  that  those  whose  signa- 
tures were  appended  had  donated  the  sums  set 
opposite  their  names  to  the  Ladies'  Christmas 
Committee  for  the  purpose  of  enabling  that  body 
to  relieve  the  wants  of  certain  poor  families  and 
persons  of  Central  Hill  and  vicinity,  that  they,  too, 
might  participate  in  the  enjoyments  of  the  day. 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  help  you  any  ladies,"  said 
Mr.  Billings,  handing  the  paper  back.  "I  ain't 
much  on  the  give.  If  people  would  work  and  take 
care  of  what  they  earned,  they  wouldn't  need  help 
for  Christmas,  or  any  other  day." 

"True,  Mr.  Billings,  at  times.  But  there  are 
times  when  the  most  worthy  seem  doomed  to 
misfortune,  and  even  if  people  do  bring  trouble  on 
themselves  we  should  not  withhold  our  sympathies 
in  all  cases.  We  are  none  of  us  perfect,  and  this 
knowledge  should  lead  us  to  be  merciful  to  the  im- 
perfections of  our  fellows." 


144  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

"You  argue  well,  Mrs.  Simcoe.  But  I  never 
have  tried  to  help  one  I  thought  deserving,  but  I 
found  that  I  was,  as  the  saying  is,  'played.'  Gave 
ten  dollars  once  to  make  up  a  subscription  for  a 
chap  that  was  knocked  over  by  a  blast.  We  made 
up  $250  for  him  and  he  kept  the  money,  never  paid 
his  doctor  a  cent  but  gambled  it  all  away.  The 
sports  had  a  fine  time  with  our  money.  It's  such 
things  as  that,  that  I've  seen  happen  more  than 
once,  that  sours  me." 

"No  doubt,  but  there  are  some  who  are  ungrate- 
ful, but  that  should  not  deter  us  from  following  a 
humane  impulse.  Let  me  tell  you  some  of  those 
whom  we  desire  to  aid.  There  are,  let  me  see,  first, 
the  colored  family  at  the  Bend." 

"Let  the  colored  people  help  them!"  interjected 
Mr.  Billings. 

"Then  there  is  Joe  Simpson's  folks.  Joe,  you 
know,  has  been  laid  up  with  a  broken  arm.  Six 
little  ones  who  were  and  are  dependent  upon  his 
day  wages  for  each  mouthful  they  eat." 

"People  that  have  nothing  ahead  to  feed  chil- 
dren should  not  marry,"  replied  Mr.  Billings. 

"But  here  is  one  case,  Mr.  Billings,  which  should 
command  your  sympathy,  if  no  other  does.  Mrs. 
Battams  and  her  children,  whose  husband  and 
father  was  killed  in  your  own  claim." 


CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM  145 

"Ladies,"  said  Mr.  Billings,  slowly  and  delib- 
erately, "I  remember  the  morning  Tom  Battams 
came  to  me  for  work,  as  well  as  though  it  were  this 
morning.  He  asked  for  work,  and  I  told  him, 
'Yes,  but  the  bank  is  mighty  treacherous.'  'Can't 
help  it,  boss/  says  Tom;  'the  babies  must  have 
shoes.'  And  when  Tom  Battams  went  into  the 
claim  to  work  he  took  his  life  in  his  hands,  for  the 
extra  wages  I  paid  him.  And  now  you  think  I 
ought  to  feed  his  young  ones.  If  I  listened  to  what 
you  soft-hearted  women  style  the  'calls  of  charity,' 
it  might  not  be  long  before  I  became  an  object  of 
charity  myself." 

It  was  evident  that  the  ladies  gave  Mr.  Billings' 
case  up  as  a  hopeless  one,  for  they  said  no  more 
upon  the  subject,  and  soon  afterward  took  their 
leave.  Cyrus  felt  relieved  when  they  had  gone, 
though  he  didn't  like  to  admit  it — even  to  himself. 

The  short  December  day  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
and  Cyrus  resumed  his  interrupted  readings.  But, 
somehow,  its  subject  no  longer  interested  him. 
Despite  himself,  his  mind  would  wander  back  a 
time  when,  in  the  old  Western  homestead,  he  had 
heard  his  father  telling  of  the  first  years  of  his 
married  life.  "When  we  fust  spliced,"  the  old  man 
said,  "Becky  an'  I  had  nothin'  but  a  feather  bed, 
a  cow  an'  a  few  cookin'  fixin's.  I'd  work  two  days 
for  Bob  Henton,  an'  then  he'd  come  with  his  oxens 


146  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

an'  plough  a  day  for  me.  That  was  the  fust  year 
an'  I  only  had  ploughin'  done  for  a  little  garden 
sass.  Next  year  I  had  my  own  oxens  an'  I  raised 
some  wheat  to  sell.  Becky  had  chickens  an'  we 
sold  some  eggs.  But  we  got  along  an'  allus  had 
each  other."  He  thought  of  the  happy  home  his 
had  been  in  childhood,  and  wondered  how  he  could 
have  told  the  ladies,  "that  people  who  have  nothing 
should  not  get  married."  But  his  thoughts  had 
come  too  late.  His  book  did  not  interest  him  now 
and  he  changed  it  for  another  from  the  well-filled 
shelves  of  his  library,  and,  turning  over  the  pages 
listlessly,  saw  that  he  had  taken  down  a  volume  of 
Dickens  (that  master  delineator  of  the  human  pas- 
sions), which  contained  the  beautiful  story  of 
"Christmas  Carol."  It  was  a  story  he  had  read 
and  re-read  in  former  years,  finding  some  new 
beauty  in  it  each  time,  but  today  he  felt  no  dis- 
position to  glance  at  its  pages,  each  word  of  which 
he  felt  would  be  a  rebuke. 

The  surging  of  the  storm  without  began  again, 
and  Cyrus  replenishing  his  fire  prepared  his  soli- 
tary meal.  By  the  time  it  was  eaten  and  washed 
down  with  a  glass  of  generous  wine,  night  had 
fallen.  But  Cyrus  did  not  light  his  lamp,  and  still 
sat  at  his  place  at  table,  communing  with  his 
thoughts.  Away  back  they  went  again,  to  the  time 
when,  strong  in  the  energy  and  hope  of  youth  and 


"You  have  come,   Mildred,   come  at  last.     How   many  years 
I  have  wished  for  your  coming."      (See  page  147.) 


CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM  147 

health,  with  the  promise  of  a  happy,  happy  future 
before  him,  he  was  not  the  selfish,  grasping  man 
he  was  today.  He  felt  his  lonely  lot  a  hard  one, 
and  rebelled  at  the  decree  of  Divine  Wisdom  which 
made  it  so.  He  bowed  his  head  in  the  gathering 
darkness  and,  resting  it  upon  his  hand,  pursued  the 
train  of  thought  which  clung  to  him. 

Suddenly  the  embers  in  the  fire-place  leaped  into 
flame  and  his  cabin  became  as  light  as  day.  He 
raised  his  eyes,  and  seated  opposite  him  was  the 
form  of  her  so  often  in  his  thoughts.  Strange  to 
say,  he  was  neither  surprised  nor  the  victim  of 
superstitious  dread.  He  knew  that  the  same  storm 
which  raged  at  his  door  was  beating  on  her  grave, 
yet  the  only  thought  which  came  into  his  mind  was 
one  of  wonder  that  she  had  entered  the  house  with- 
out him  being  aware  of  it. 

"You  have  come,  Mildred,"  said  Cyrus.  "Come 
at  last.  How  many  years  I  have  wished  for  your 
coming.  Why  have  you  come  now?" 

"For  you,  Cyrus." 

"I  am  ready  to  go.  The  world  has  had  little  for 
me  since  you  were  taken  away  from  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  grave,  sad  smile. 

"The  world,  Cyrus,  is  as  one  makes  it  for  him- 
self. Yours  has  not  been  a  pleasant  one,  but  why?" 

"Why?  Because,  when  on  the  threshhold  of 
manhood,  my  hopes  were  blasted,  and  Time,  which 


148  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

heals  the  wounds  of  others  brought  no  consolation 


to  me." 


She  made  no  answer  to  this,  but  rising  beckoned 
him  to  go  with  her,  and  together  they  passed  out 
of  the  door  which  opened  of  its  own  volition  at 
their  approach.  And,  when  they  had  crossed  the 
threshold  they  seemed  to  have  left  the  cabin  far 
behind  them.  Cyrus  looked  to  the  right,  where  the 
lights  of  the  little  village  at  the  base  of  Central 
Hill  should  have  appeared  at  this  hour,  but  all  was 
darkness  there.  Above  their  heads  was  a  leaden 
sky  with  threatening  clouds  moving  slowly  in  the 
direction  they  were  walking.  Soon  they  came  to  a 
straggling  row  of  houses,  built  of  logs  or  shakes, 
reminding  Cyrus  of  the  looks  of  Central  Hill  vil- 
lage when  first  builded. 

They  stepped  up  to  one  of  these  and,  looking 
through  the  dirty  window,  saw  a  lot  of  men  seated 
at  a  table  gaming.  But  though  the  game  went  on 
without  ceasing,  none  of  the  players  seemed  to  de- 
rive any  pleasure.  Indeed,  it  appeared  that  instead 
of  playing  to  win,  each  was  playing  to  lose  and  the 
winner  each  time  reached  for  the  money  as  though 
compelled  to,  and  with  a  reluctant  hand. 

They  passed  onward  and  soon  came  to  another 
house,  where  an  old  man  sat  surrounded  by  bags  of 
money.  Some  of  the  sacks  were  labeled  "doub- 
loons," some  "eagles,"  while  others  bore  the  mark 


CYRUS   BILLINGS     DREAM  149 

of  the  foreign  silver  coins  which  were  so  current  in 
the  land  at  an  early  day.  Ever  and  anon  a  ser- 
vant or  a  clerk  would  enter  bringing  more  money, 
but  the  receipt  of  the  treasure  brought  no  pleasure 
to  the  recipient.  Yet  he  took  it  as  handed  him 
and  with  a  pained  look  put  it  into  the  sacks  contain- 
ing its  kind,  and  turned,  as  if  loathing  it,  away. 

Many  other  houses  they  looked  into,  in  each  of 
which  the  occupant  was  doomed  relentlessly  to  fol- 
low the  selfish  occupation  he  had  pursued  on  earth. 
Butchers,  who  stole  and  killed  their  neighbor's  cat- 
tle, merchants,  who  cheated  in  weight,  lawyers, 
who  studied  their  books  to  get  "points"  by  means 
of  which  they  hoped  to  rob  the  widow  or  orphan 
of  their  inheritance  on  some  quibble,  doctors,  who 
preyed  upon  suffering  humanity,  that  their  purses 
might  be  lengthened,  all,  and  others  were  seen. 
But  at  last  the  long  straggling  street  came  to  an 
end  and  they  halted. 

"Were  any  of  those  you  saw  of  a  type  with  your- 
self, Cyrus?" 

"Do  you  mean  the  man  with  the  money?"  asked 
Cyrus,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"It  is  well.  When  one  knows  his  fault  he  is  al- 
ready on  the  road  to  repentance.  In  life  that  man 
cared  only  for  gain.  Wealth  flowed  to  him  from 
every  quarter,  and  the  more  he  acquired,  the  more 
grasping  and  covetous  did  he  become.  Now,  each 


150       '       CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

coin  that  comes  to  him  is  a  curse,  yet  it  is  his  pun- 
ishment that  he  must  continue  to  amass,  as  though 
his  salvation  depended  upon  it." 

"And  must  he  thus  continue  forever?" 

"God  is  merciful  and  God  is  just.  Would  it  be 
the  part  of  either  justice  or  mercy  to  punish  for  an 
eternity  the  sins  of  time?" 

Cyrus  turned  to  look  back  over  the  route  they 
had  traversed,  and  when  he  turned  again  to  his 
companion  the  landscape  was  changed.  The  air 
was  soft  and  balmy  as  in  spring  time,  the  leaden, 
heavy  clouds  which  had  accompanied  them  on  this 
journey  thus  far  had  given  place  to  a  blue  and 
smiling  sky,  while  the  notes  of  bird  and  the  chirp- 
ing of  cheerful  insect  life  filled  the  air.  As  they 
went  forward  on  their  resumed  journey  he  saw  that 
they  were  in  a  country  of  happy  people,  as  from 
time  to  time  they  met  with  those  who  invariably 
greeted  them  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

As  they  passed  along  through  the  streets  of  a 
beautiful  city,  Cyrus  was  surprised  at  hearing  his 
own  name  called.  He  turned  in  the  direction  of 
the  voice  and  a  little  girl  grasped  his  hand  and 
welcomed  him. 

"I  don't  remember  you,  my  little  friend,"  said 
Cyrus. 


CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 


"But  I  do  you,  and  did  the  moment  I  saw  you. 
Don't  you  remember  George  Martin's  little  girl, 
that  was  sick  so  long?" 

"George  Martin.  Yes,  I  do;  but  that  was  many 
years  ago." 

"When  I  was  so  sick  I  could  not  get  up  you 
came  in  with  papa  one  day.  You  seemed  so  sorry 
for  me,  and  when  you  went  away  sent  me  a  doll 
with  curly  hair  and  eyes  that  opened  and  shut." 

"I  remember  now,"  said  Cyrus,  his  heart  beat- 
ing with  pleasure  at  the  thought  of  the  little  one's 
grateful  remembrance.  "But  that  was  only  a 
trifle." 

"Yet  if  you  could  have  seen  the  many  hours  of 
pleasure  that  trifle  gave  me,  you  would  have  been 
rewarded.  And  when  I  came  away  Dollie  came 
with  me." 

If  Mr.  Billings  experienced  one  tithe  the  feeling 
of  pleasure  at  the  moment  he  gave  George  Mar- 
tin's sick  child  the  little  gift  which  had  proven  such 
a  treasure  to  her,  as  he  did  now  at  the  recollections 
of  it,  our  only  wonder  is  that  he  did  not  keep  on 
fruitful  in  good  works  to  the  end.  But  he  had  not, 
for  the  very  next  person  he  saw  made  his  heart 
shrink  with  regret  at  the  lost  opportunities,  gone 
never  to  return. 

It  was  Tom  Battams.  Tom,  whose  tragic  death 
and  suffering  family. had  been  the  subject  of  con- 


152  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

versation  but  that  very  day.  Tom,  whose  claim 
upon  his  abundance  had  seemed  so  strong  to  the 
ladies  that  they  had  brought  it  to  his  mind  with  a 
confidence  that  should  have  been  justified  by  suc- 
cess. But  the  appeal  had  been  vain. 

"If  my  life  was  to  live  over  again,  Mildred,  I 
should  be  a  different  man.  But  it  is  now  too  late." 

"Too  late,  perhaps,  for  the  days  that  are  passed, 
but  not  too  late  for  those  that  are  yet  to  come.  But 
time  passes — I  cannot  have  you  with  me  long." 

Many  places  in  the  beautiful  city  they  visited 
and  at  each  turn  they  took  they  met  the  form  of 
some  one  whom  Cyrus  had  known  in  the  past  ere 
he  or  she  had  crossed  the  dark  river.  All  looked 
at  them  with  pleasant  looks  of  welcome,  and  no 
words  of  reproach  fell  from  the  lips  of  any,  though 
again  and  again  they  would  come  unbidden  to  the 
man's  heart.  They  retraced  their  steps  to  the  point 
where  they  had  seen  the  little  girl,  when  Mildred 
spoke : 

"We  must  now  part,  Cyrus,  let  me  hope  for  a 
brief  time  only.  One  last  word  before  you  return. 
Here  we  are  free  from  the  curse  of  the  world — 
selfishness.  We  leave  that  behind  when  we  put 
off  the  mortal  form  and  rise  to  a  higher  sphere. 
We  cannot  return  to  the  scenes  of  earth  life  to 
counsel  and  advise  the  loved  ones  we  leave  behind, 
but  we  know  of  their  deeds  and  pray  for  their  hap- 


CYRUS   BILLINGS     DREAM  153 

piness.  It  is  written  that  it  'is  not  good  for  man 
to  be  alone,  and  that  woman  was  created  for  the 
companion  of  man.'  The  heart-strings  may  be 
strained  in  the  agonies  of  sorrow,  but  with  the 
passage  of  Time  should  come  soft,  sad  memories, 
and  resignation  to  the  will  of  Omnipotence.  Man 
can  cherish  the  memory  of  and  do  his  duty  by  the 

dead,  and  yet  love  and  do  his  duty  by  the  living." 

********  * 

Mr.  Billings  slowly  raised  his  head  from  the 
table  on  which  it  had  lain  and  for  a  moment  was 
bewildered.  He  did  not  know  whether  he  was  at 
home  in  his  own  cabin,  or  still  in  the  shadow  land 
of  his  dream.  The  fire  had  again  burned  low,  and 
the  few  embers  remaining  sent  forth  a  dim,  flick- 
ering, uncertain  light. 

He  looked  across  the  table  more  than  half  ex- 
pecting to  see  Mildred  sitting  in  the  place  where  it 
still  seemed  she  must  be,  but  the  uncertain  light  re- 
vealed nothing  save  the  background  of  the  cup- 
board from  which  he  had  taken  the  materials  for 
his  supper. 

The  rain  had  ceased  again  and  a  glance  through 
the  window  revealed  the  sight  of  a  few  stars  strug- 
gling through  the  obscurity  of  the  sky.  Cyrus 
rose  and  throwing  a  few  light  sticks  upon  the  em- 
bers soon  had  the  room  lighted  with  a  cheerful 
glow. 


154  CYRUS   BILLINGS     DREAM 

uOh,  Mildred,  Mildred,"  he  exclaimed,  looking 
toward  the  spot  again  where  she  had  been  seated. 
"Often  and  again  have  I  wished  you  could  come  to 
me  in  my  dreams.  Why,  oh  why  did  you  not  come 
before ?" 

His  soliloquy  was  cut  short  by  the  sound  of  an 
approaching  footstep.  It  came  up  to  the  door  and 
after  a  little  hesitation  there  was  a  timid  rap.  Cy- 
rus opened  the  door,  and  saw  one  of  the  hands  usu- 
ally employed  in  the  claim  standing  outside. 

"Come  in  Sam,"  said  Cyrus.  Sam  entered  and 
waited  uneasily  until  bidden  to  take  a  seat. 

"Ditch  broke?"  asked  Cyrus. 

"No,  the  ditch  is  all  right.  Jim  went  up  and 
opened  the  waste  gates  yesterday.  I  went  over  the 
line  myself  this  afternoon.  There  was  a  little  slide 
at  Pigeon  Point,  but  it  is  all  shoveled  out  now,  and 
there  is  no  danger." 

Mr.  Billings'  mind  being  thus  relieved  on  this 
subject  (for  he  had  some  misgivings  as  to  the 
safety  of  his  water  way),  he  sat  rather  impatiently 
for  Sam's  business  to  be  made  known.  But  that 
gentleman  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry. 

"I  was  just  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  store, 
Sam,"  said  Cyrus,  at  length.  "Is  there  anything 
you  want  to  tell  me  of?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Billings.  I  thought  I  would  come 
and  see  if  you  would  do  me  a  little  favor — if  you 


CYRUS   BILLINGS     DREAM  155 

can.  You  know  last  season  was  pretty  short  and 
I  didn't  get  in  a  great  deal  of  time.  It's  been  a 
bad  time  for  getting  odd  jobs  about  the  Hill  this 
summer,  and  the  grass  has  been  pretty  short  at  our 
house.  Wife  was  saying  today,  that  if  we  could 
only  get  some  shoes  for  the  children,  with  some 
cheap  playthings,  it  would  be  so  nice  for  them 
Christmas.  I  didn't  tell  her  I  was  coming  here, 
but  I  thought  that  now  that  water  had  come  and  I 
could  begin  work  soon  as  the  ditch  banks  were  set- 
tled, maybe  you'd  advance  me  a  few  dollars." 

Sam  delivered  himself  of  this  request  in  a  hesi- 
tating way,  and  it  was  tolerably  certain  from  his 
manner  that  he  expected  a  refusal.  And,  indeed, 
it  would  be  only  in  consonance  with  Cyrus'  man- 
ner of  doing  business  if  his  surmise  should  prove 
correct,  for  Mr.  Billings  had  a  theory,  founded 
upon  strict  business  principles,  that  a  "good  pay- 
master paid  when  the  work  was  done,"  etc. 

"How  much  will  you  want,  Sam?"  inquired  Cy- 
rus. 

"I  thought  maybe  you  could  spare  ten  dollars," 
said  Sam,  scarcely  believing  his  own  ears.  "If  you 
can't  we'll  have  to  get  along  with  less." 

Mr.  Billings  drew  forth  his  purse  and  deposited 
a  coin  in  Sam's  outstretched  hand. 

"Why,  Mr.  Billings,  you  have  made  a  mistake; 
this  is  a  twenty  and  I  have  no  change." 


156  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

"So  it  is,"  said  Cyrus,  looking  at  it  as  if  he  now 
saw  it  for  the  first  time.  "Well,  IVe  nothing 
smaller,  and  you  can  work  out  twenty  as  well  as 
ten.  It  starts  in  for  a  good  season  and  I  ain't 
afraid  but  you'll  be  on  hand.  Now,  if  that's  all, 
I'll  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  for  I  want  to  go  to  the 
store  tonight." 

The  two  left  the  cabin  and  proceeded  down  to 
the  collection  of  houses  called  the  "burg,"  where 
they  parted  company,  Sam  hastening  home  to  com- 
municate the  good  tidings  to  his  wife,  while  Cyrus 
bent  his  steps  to  the  store.  The  weather  was  not 
propitious  for  the  assemblage  of  "stove  sharps," 
and  there  were,  consequently,  not  many  idlers  at 
that  place  when  he  entered.  He  was  received  with 
the  deference  due  to  a  successful  mine  owner,  from 
whom  business  favors  had  been  received  in  the  past 
and  from  whom  it  was  reasonable  to  suppose  more 
would  be  received  in  the  future,  so  when  he 
stepped  up  to  one  of  the  urbane  proprietors  and  ex- 
pressed his  desire  for  that  gentleman  to  take  down 
an  "order,"  his  wish  was  complied  with  with  com- 
mendable alacrity. 

"Put  down  a  couple  of  hundred  of  flour,  to  be- 
gin with,"  said  Cyrus. 

"Two  hundred  of  flour.     Anything  else?" 

"A  barrel  of  sugar  and  box  of  tea." 

"Sugar  and  tea." 


CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM  157 

"A  couple  of  sacks  of  something  for  chicken 
feed." 

"Two  sacks  of  wheat.    Anything  else?'1 

"You  might  put  in  some  bacon,  some  rice  and 
some  dried  fruit,  I  guess.  That's  all." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Billings.  Our  mules  will  be 
quite  busy  tomorrow  as  the  day  after,  you  know, 
will  be  Christmas.  Will  you  want  it  right  away?" 

"Tomorrow  if  you  please.  And  see  here," 
added  Cyrus,  bending  over  the  counter,  "I'd  like 
to  have  you  take  the  stuff  up  and  leave  it  at  the 
Widow  Battams." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  storekeeper,  with 
a  pleased  expression.  "It  shall  be  done  as  you 
wish  and  there  is  not  a  thing  in  the  lot  will  come 
amiss  I  assure  you.  I  think  times  have  been  pretty 
nippin'  up  there  for  quite  a  while." 

Cyrus'  next  visit  was  to  the  blacksmith's  home. 
Here  he  found,  not  only  Mrs.  Simcoe,  but  Miss 
Styles,  the  sister  of  his  old  partner,  and  who  had 
been  to  his  house  with  Mrs.  Simcoe  that  day.  As 
the  last  named  lady  was  one  with  whom  he  had 
become  acquainted  only  that  day,  he  felt  a  trifle 
embarrassed. 

But  the  ladies,  notwithstanding  the  refusal  they 
had  received  that  day  from  him  were  very  pleas- 
ant, for  the  prospects  of  a  good  season  had  opened 
the  hearts  and  purses  of  those  who  had  been  called 


158  CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM 

upon,  generally,  and  they  were  well  satisfied  with 
the  total  result  of  their  labors.  They  awaited  only 
the  arrival  of  others  of  the  committee  before  they 
decided  upon  the  special  uses  to  which  the  bounty 
they  had  should  be  put.  Cyrus  soon  got  an  inkling 
of  this  and  governed  himself  accordingly. 

"I  have  thought  better  of  what  we  talked  of 
today,  ladies,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
I  ought  to  add  a  little  to  the  list."  And  Cyrus  laid 
$20  on  the  table.  "But  I  want  to  couple  this  with 
a  condition." 

The  ladies  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  But  at 
last  Mrs.  Simcoe  asked:  "What  is  the  condition 
you  refer  to?" 

"Well,  this.  Whatever  you  do  for  the  Battams 
family,  let  it  be  something  to  wear.  That's  all." 

While  they  were  not  as  yet  posted  as  to  the  rea- 
sons Mr.  Billings  had  for  coupling  this  condition 
with  his  gift,  they  felt  that  they  must  be  potent  and 
readily  agreed  to  his  request.  Soon  other  members 
of  the  committee  came  and  Cyrus  was  turned  over 
to  his  old  partner's  sister  for  entertainment,  she, 
being  a  recent  arrival  at  the  Hill,  leaving  the  de- 
tails to  her  co-workers.  She  must  have  been  quite 
successful  as  an  entertainer  for  though  the  delib- 
erations of  the  committee  were  quite  lengthy,  the 
two  found  so  much  to  talk  about  that  it  was  not  un- 
til all  minor  matters  were  agreed  upon  and  the  lady 


CYRUS  BILLINGS'  DREAM  159 

visitors  took  their  departure  that  Cyrus  rose  to  go. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  quid  nuncs  of  Central 
Hill  found  ample  food  for  conversation  in  the 
change  which  had  come  over  Cy.  Billings.  Vari- 
ous causes  were  assigned  therefore,  the  most  gen- 
erally accepted  one  being  that  it  was  because  he  de- 
sired to  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  Gertrude  Styles, 
and  there  is  good  warrant  for  this  belief,  for  his 
attentions  to  that  lady  soon  became  marked.  How- 
ever much  this  may  have  aided  in  changing  him 
permanently  it  is  not  for  us  to  hazard  a  guess,  but  if 
the  aforesaid  quid  nuncs  had  known  of  the  dream 
which  came  to  him  on  that  stormy  December  day, 
some,  at  least  of  them  would  not  have  been  long  in 
arriving  at  the  true  conclusion. 


BILL'S    LUCK 

Of  course  he  had  been  in  love.  That,  however, 
was  but  a  natural  consequence  to  masculine  hu- 
manity, for  the  male  biped  who  passes  the  age  of 
discretion  without  a  touch  of  the  tender  passion 
would  be  an  anomaly  in  human  nature.  And  of 
course  he  had  been  loved  in  return,  that  is,  if  he  had 
judged  the  feelings  of  the  fair  one  correctly.  That 
was  not  so  natural  I  thought,  for  as  I  looked  at 
"Unlucky  Bill"  while  he  was  pouring  his  sorrows 
into  my  sympathizing  ear,  there  didn't  seem  to  be 
much  that  was  very  loveable  bound  up  in  the  mud- 
stained  garments  that  encased  his  manly  form.  Yet 
I  ought  to  have  accepted  his  belief  implicitly, 
knowing  that  far  more  "ornery-looking"  men  than 
he  were  happy  husbands  and  daddies,  and  that 
every  "Jack  has  his  Jill,"  if  fate  happens  to  throw 
them  together. 

Probably  the  fact  of  Bill  having  been  so  uni- 
formly unfortunate  that  the  sobriquet  of  "Un- 
lucky" was  generally  and  rightfully  prefixed  to  his 
name,  prejudiced  my  judgment.  Probably  I 
thought  him  too  much  out  of  luck  to  inspire  a  genu- 
ine attachment  in  any  feminine  breast.  For  what- 


1 62  BILL'S  LUCK 

ever  Bill  turned  his  hand  to  seemed  to  turn  against 
him.  If  he  " wing-dammed,"  it  was  a  safe  bet  that 
he  would  find  that  he  had  only  drained  a  "pot 
hole,"  and  no  honest  miner  requires  to  be  told  that 
not  one  in  a  hundred  of  these  places  ever  pay  any- 
thing. If  he  sunk  a  shaft  he  would  strike  down  on 
a  high  spur  of  bed-rock,  without  a  ghost  of  a  color 
to  be  found.  If  he  bought  into  a  claim  that  was 
paying  well,  the  chances  were  that  the  "lead" 
would  give  out  by  the  time  he  got  his  money  back, 
leaving  him  minus  for  grub  and  gum  boots.  But 
Bill  was  generally  hopeful  to  the  last;  at  each  fail- 
ure, after  some  general  objurgations  of  his  "luck" 
he  was  ready  to  pitch  in  again.  In  his  case,  how- 
ever, the  old  adage  of  the  "long  lane  which  has  no 
turning"  seemed  at  fault.  How  could  such  an  un- 
lucky devil  hope  to  inspire  genuine  love? 

But  I  never  for  a  moment  questioned  but  Bill 
had  loved  with  all  the  ardor  of  his  nature.  He 
was  just  the  kind  of  a  chap  to  indulge  in  some  hope- 
less passion — and  not  one  either  of  the  sickly  kind 
which  crops  out  with  the  first  fuz  on  the  upper  lip. 
And  I  was  equally  prepared  to  believe  that  his 
heart's  delight  had  "throwed  him"  when  he  failed 
to  come  back  within  the  time  which  he  had  set  for 
the  limit  of  his  stay.  Poor  Bill!  His  case  was 
only  one  out  of  ten  thousand  in  the  same  year. 


BILL'S  LUCK  163 

"  'Tis  said  that  absence  conquers  love,"  and  the 
youths  who  sought  fortune  in  the  Golden  State  dur- 
ing its  first  years  are  ready  to  certify  to  its  truth. 
And  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  censure  the  de- 
linquent fair  ones  either. 

It  was  a  bleak  day,  past  the  middle  of  Decem- 
ber, when  Unlucky  Bill  let  me  into  this  secret  pas- 
sage of  his  past  history.  What  caused  him  to  un- 
bosom himself  was  this :  I  happened  along  by  the 
tunnel  he  had  been  running  into  Coyote  Flat  just 
as  he  finished  washing  up  his  "drift  dirt,"  which 
the  rains  now  furnished  him  water  to  do.  The  tun- 
nel added  another  to  the  list  of  Bill's  failures  at 
mining,  though  he  felt  hopeful  that  there  was 
something  "just  ahead."  After  narrating  his  ex- 
periences in  this  tunnel  Bill  had  branched  out,  giv- 
ing me  a  retrospect  of  his  experience  with  pick  and 
pan,  and  wound  up  by  assuring  me  that  if  he  had 
had  the  least  particle  of  aluck"  at  the  proper  time, 
he,  too,  might  have  been  a  benedict  like  myself. 
This  aroused  my  curiosity,  and  I  proceeded  to 
udraw  him  out,"  wherein  I  met  with  great  success. 

"And  would  you  b'lieve  it,"  said  Unlucky,  in 
conclusion,  "if  she  didn't  go  and  marry  the  last 
chap  I'd  'a  thought  of;  a  regular  no-account  that 
she  wouldn't  hardly  talk  to  when  I  was  thar." 

"Girls  take  queer  notions,  sometimes,  Bill;  but 
I  should  have  thought  her  being  engaged  to  you 


164  BILL'S  LUCK 

would  have  kept  her  from  letting  the  fellow  make 
up  to  her." 

"Well,  we  weren't  exactly  engaged,"  said  Bill, 
sheepishly.  "You  see  I  was  sorter  bashful,  and 
hadn't  quite  axed  her  if  it  was  all  right.  But  then 
I'd  took  her  everywhere,  and  got  things  for  her, 
and  I  thought  the  thing  was  as  good  as  settled,  any- 
how. Cuss  the  luck." 

"Don't  'cuss'  anything  but  yourself,  Bill;  if 
that's  all  you  had  to  go  on.  I  don't  see  as  the  girl 
was  to  blame.  Maybe  if  you'd  spoke  out  like  you 
should  it  would  have  been  all  right.  You  can't  ex- 
pect a  woman  to  take  everything  for  granted,  you 
know." 

This  was  evidently  a  new  light  to  Bill. 

"Maybe  you're  right,"  he  said.  "I  never  thought 
of  that.  Cuss  it." 

"Well,  you  lost  her,  Bill,  and  it's  hardly  worth 
while  asking  how  at  this  late  day.  But,  take  my 
advice.  There's  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  were 
ever  caught  out  of  it.  Get  some  one  to  fight  the 
battles  of  life  with  you,  instead  of  roughing  it  the 
way  you  do,  and  my  word  for  it,  you'll  be  better 
for  it  at  the  end  of  a  year.  Come  down  to  the 
Christmas  tree  next  week  and  I'll  put  you  on  the 
trail  of  a  young  widow  that  moved  in  last  week, 
with  a  family  already  started  for  you." 


BILL'S  LUCK  165 

"Widder  be  hanged !"  growled  Unlucky.  "And 
children,  too.  How  many  is  there  of  them?" 

"Three,  all  girls." 

"Well,  do  you  see  that  tunnel?  I  made  just  six 
bits  a  day  while  running  it,  enough,  I  guess,  to 
keep  them  little  imps  in  shoes.  Now  wouldn't  I  be 
a  sweet  old  chap  for  a  widder?" 

Unlucky  Bill  was  so  highly  pleased  at  the 
thought  of  marrying  on  the  daily  income  he  had 
named,  that  he  broke  out  into  a  hearty  guffaw,  the 
first  symptom  of  returning  spirits  he  had  shown 
since  the  wash-up  panned  out  so  poorly.  But  in 
justice  to  that  worthy  I  must  say  that  his  failures 
never  kept  him  down  long  at  a  time,  for  he  was 
one  of  the  irrepressibles. 

"Never  mind  the  widow,  Bill,  I  didn't  think  you 
would  take  seriously  to  the  notion.  But  I  do  want 
you  to  come  down,  just  to  see  how  the  little  fellows 
will  enjoy  the  fun;  it'll  do  you  good." 

It  was  with  some  apparent  reluctance  that  Mr. 
Shively  gave  me  the  required  promise,  but  he  did 
give  it.  And  when  Christmas  eve  was  come,  among 
the  guests  at  the  Mule  City  Hotel  was  Unlucky 
Bill. 

If  I  had  space  I  should  like  to  describe  the  array 
of  beauty  there  which  graced  the  occasion,  with  an 
elaborate  description  of  the  toilettes  of  the  ladies, 
but  as  the  whole  matter  was  duly  reported  in  the 


1 66  BILL'S  LUCK 

local  paper  at  the  time,  I  will  refer  my  readers 
thereto  for  further  particulars. 

The  extreme  bashfulness  of  Mr.  Shively  kept 
him  pretty  well  in  the  background  and  it  was  not 
until  the  presents  from  the  tree  were  all  distributed 
and  the  squeaking  of  the  fiddles  had  been  heard 
some  time  that  I  was  able  to  catch  sight  of  that 
worthy.  He  was  then  standing  outside  the  door 
and  making  frantic  efforts  to  attract  my  atten- 
tions. I  went  to  him  at  once. 

"Say,  Jim,  what  woman's  that  in  the  speckled 
caliker  dress?" 

"That's  the  new  widow  I  was  telling  you  of. 
Come  on,  and  I'll  make  you  acquainted." 

"No — no — no !  Jim,  this  is  the  cussedest  luck. 
Jim,  that's  her!" 

"And  who's 'her'?" 

"Don't  you  know?    Betsy  Jane." 

"And  who  the  devil  may  Betsy  Jane  be?" 

"The  one  I  told  you  of.  That's  her  surer  than 
Scripter,  and  Jim,  I'm  nearly  pizoned  to  know 
what  sent  her  up  this  way?" 

The  curiosity  of  my  friend  being  a  very  laudible 
one  I  set  myself  to  work  to  gratify  it,  and  after 
confiding  to  my  wife  enough  of  Bill's  history  to 
awaken  her  interest  (for  women  must  have  a  why 
and  wherefore  for  everything) ,  I  learned  all  that 
was  necessary.  The  Widow  Clyne  had  laid  the 


BILL'S  LUCK  167 

lamented  gentleman  of  that  name  under  the  chap- 
arral some  eight  calendar  months  previous,  in  the 
rival  village  of  Dogtown.  She  had  remained  near 
the  last  resting  place  of  the  departed  until  grub 
was  hard  to  get,  when  she  removed  to  our  flourish- 
ing city  and  was  now  ready  to  take  in  dressmak- 
ing. I  also  learned  that  the  late  Mr.  Clyne  had, 
during  the  last  few  years'  tarry  on  earth,  developed 
a  weakness  for  gin  cocktails,  keno,  and  other  inno- 
cent but  expensive  amusements,  so  that  when  finally 
he  was  borne  out  of  his  house  he  left  but  very  lit- 
tle of  this  world's  goods  behind  him  in  it;  and  that 
the  widow  had  been  compelled  to  do  some  pretty 
lively  "scratching"  to  make  everything  come  out 
just  right. 

"What  did  they  git  on  the  Christmas  tree?" 
asked  Bill,  when  I  had  communicated  to  him  the 
information  gathered  from  my  affectionate  spouse. 

I  was  sorry  to  tell  him  that  as  the  widow's  circle 
of  acquaintance  was  limited,  the  Christmas  offer- 
ings to  the  Clyne  family  had  been  somewhat 
meagre. 

"She  shall  have  ten  yards  of  the  best  linsey  in  the 
store  for  each  of  them  gals,"  said  Bill.  "And  just 
as  nice  a  dress  pattern  for  herself  as  can  be  found. 
Now,  you  go  with  me  and  pick  'em  out.  Fix  up 
some  yarn  about  their  being  left  for  the  tree,  and 
forgot  till  just  now,  can't  you?" 


1 68  BILL'S  LUCK 

Of  course  I  could.  We  hunted  up  the  store- 
keeper, made  the  required  purchases  and  were  back 
in  no  time,  as  we  thought.  But  the  widow  had 
gathered  up  her  brood  and  was  gone. 

"Just  my  luck,"  said  Bill,  when  this  fact  was 
made  known  to  him.  "I  might  a  knowed  it.  But 
I'm  sot  on  her  having  them  things  tonight,  if  I 
have  to  break  one  of  her  winders." 

He  took  a  pencil  and  wrote  on  the  thick  brown 
paper,  "From  a  friend."  Then  armed  with  the 
bundle  we  took  our  way  to  the  widow's  domicile. 
But  that  excellent  lady  having  the  cares  and  duties 
of  the  morrow  before  her  mind  had  retired  to  rest 
and  all  was  silent  as  a  Quaker  meeting,  before  the 
"spirit"  begins  to  move. 

"My  old  luck,  again,"  growled  Bill,  as  he  took 
in  the  situation.  "Never  mind;  there's  more  ways 
to  kill  a  cat  than  choking  with  butter.  If  I  can 
find  her  clothes  line,  I'll  send  this  package  down 
her  chimbly." 

"Be  careful,  old  fellow!  Some  of  these  Cali- 
fornia widows  keep  a  revolver  close  by,  and  they 
shoot  mighty  wild.  Them  things  will  keep  till 
tomorrow." 

Mr.  Shively  was  too  mad  to  listen  to  reason,  and 
was  lucky  enough  to  find  the  desired  clothes  line. 
Having  securely  fastened  one  end  to  the  bundle, 
he  began  to  cautiously  make  his  way  up  the  sloping 


BILL'S  LUCK  169 

woodshed  towards  the  chimney.  For  once  fortune 
seemed  to  favor  him ;  the  bundle  was  placed  within 
the  chimney  and  was  being  gently  lowered — when 
there  was  a  crash  of  falling  timbers,  two  or  three 
huge  oaths,  and  Bill  came  limping  out  of  the  ruins 
just  as  a  series  of  feminine  shrieks  broke  on  the 
silence  of  midnight. 

"I've  nearly  broke  my  infernal  leg,"  said  he, 
rubbing  the  injured  member.  "Just  my  sweet- 
scented  luck  again.  For  mercy's  sake,  Jim,  do  try 
and  stop  that  woman's  yawp.  She'll  yell  herself 
into  conniption  fits  and  have  the  town  here  in  a 
minute  more.  Don't  be  skeered,  Betsy  Jane! 
Oh-h-h,  darling,  don't  holler  so !" 

Whether  from  the  tenderness  of  the  adjuration, 
or  because  she  had  already  screamed  herself  hoarse, 
the  widow  quieted  down,  and  we  made  tracks. 
Unlucky  Bill  didn't  show  his  face  for  the  next  three 
days,  and  when  he  did  it  was  only  with  a  fresh  tale 
of  trouble. 

In  the  meanwhile,  however,  the  widow  had  not 
been  slow  in  her  endeavors  to  find  out  the  mystery 
of  that  broken  shed  roof,  and  thanks  to  the  knack 
women  have  of  getting  at  anything  which  concerns 
themselves,  had  not  only  learned  who  it  was  that 
had  been  so  generous  on  that  occasion,  but  had  also 
gathered  all  the  information  in  regard  to  Mr.  Shiv- 
ely's  antecedents  that  Ara vesta  (my  adorable 


170  BILL'S  LUCK 

wife)  could  pump  out  of  me.  And  the  result  was 
that  the  juvenile  Clynes  were  set  on  the  watch,  and 
my  unlucky  friend  had  not  much  more  than  set  his 
foot  into  town  when  he  received  an  intimation  that 
his  presence  was  desired  at  the  widow's  hospitable 
dwelling. 

What  transpired  at  the  interview  I  did  not  learn 
at  once,  but  as  Bill  lamented  over  the  "bad  streak" 
which  kept  him  so  "infernal  poor,"  I  judged  that 
there  had  been  a  fresh  kindling  of  the  sacred  pas- 
sion in  his  manly  heart.  If  this  was  the  case,  how- 
ever, the  second  course  of  true  love  didn't  appear 
to  be  running  any  more  smoothly  for  my  unlucky 
friend  than  the  first  had  done.  I  was  led  to  this 
sorrowful  conclusion  by  Bill  tramping  in  excitedly 
a  day  or  two  before  New  Year,  with  the  most 
elongated  visage  I  ever  saw  on  a  mortal.  I  knew 
at  once  that  the  details  of  some  fresh  misfortune 
were  about  to  be  rehearsed  to  me. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Bill?" 

"Oh,  the  same  infernal  luck.  Tunnels  caved 
and  I  have  got  to  start  in  from  the  front.  It's  too 
bad — just  as  I  was  getting  good  prospects,  too." 

"Can't  you  clean  out  the  cave,  timber  up,  and  go 
on?" 

"Daresn't  try  it,  the  ground's  cracked  all  the 
way  back.  It  must  have  been  mighty  loose  over- 
head and  Betsy  Jane  told  me  if  I'd  only  said  any- 


BILL'S  LUCK 


thing,  she'd  a  waited,  oh — ever  so  long !  But  the 
jig's  up  now;  for  a  while,  any  way." 

"Well,  Bill,  it  is  pretty  hard  luck,  but  I  wouldn't 
start  in  from  the  front  again,  if  I  were  in  your 
place.  I'd  put  in  a  few  boxes,  turn  on  a  head  of 
water  from  Flap-jack  Gulch  and  sluice  back  to 
your  prospects.  You'll  be  apt  to  make  grub,  any- 
way." 

Bill  said  he  would  do  it.  I  went  up  next  morn- 
ing and  helped  him  set  the  boxes,  and  by  night  he 
had  cleaned  out  an  old  ditch  and  had  the  water 
running  through. 

I  did  not  see  my  friend  again  until  New  Year's 
night.  Then  he  came  into  the  store,  where  I  was 
loafing,  beckoned  me  to  one  side,  and  unfolding  a 
roll  of  rags  he  carried  in  his  hand,  showed  me  a 
nice  little  pile  of  dust. 

"What's  this,  Bill?" 

"The  best  luck  in  the  world,  Jim,  I'm  cussed  if 
it  ain't.  Turned  off  the  water  tonight,  to  see  if  I 
could  see  the  color,  and  the  boxes  were  just  lousy. 
Gold  all  in  the  gravel,  and  I've  been  running  un- 
der the  lead  all  the  time.  I've  got  the  best  claim 
in  the  county  and  I'll  marry  Betsy  Jane  tomorrow. 
Have  you  to  thank  for  it  and  you  shall  have  a  half- 
interest.  Not  in  Betsy  Jane — in  the  claim." 

But  why  use  up  time  and  paper  in  describing  the 
happiness  which  now  came  to  these  two  long-sev- 


172  BILL'S  LUCK 

ered  hearts?  Unlucky  had  struck  it  at  last,  and  if 
you  go  to  Mule  City  today  you  will  hear  some  of 
the  old  residenters  speak  of  the  former  fabulous 
richness  of  Coyote  Flat.  The  young  Clyne  dam- 
sels have  grown  up,  married  and  gone  from  the 
maternal  roof,  but  Bill's  luck  never  left  him  from 
that  happy  New  Year  to  this  day. 


THE  FERRY 

A  bleak  December  day.  Overhead  the  leaden 
clouds  hung  like  a  pall,  moving  slowly  to  the  north- 
ward giving  token  of  a  continuance  of  the  storm 
which  had  been  raging  for  the  three  days  past.  It 
was  near  to  the  evening  hour  but  the  wight  who, 
for  any  reason,  had  passed  the  day  in  slumber, 
could  not  have  told  from  the  sky  whether  it  were 
the  morning,  noontide  or  evening  hour,  for  there 
was  no  rift  in  the  clouds  which  showed  in  what 
quarter  the  god  of  day  lay. 

The  old  ferryman  stood  under  the  little  porch 
in  front  of  his  door  watching  the  flood  of  the  river. 
The  ferry  rope  had  been  hauled  taut  and  the  boat 
hauled  as  far  in  shore  as  the  descending  road 
would  permit  and,  besides  being  fastened  to  the 
rope,  was  made  yet  more  secure  by  being  lashed 
with  a  stout  cord  to  a  great  cottonwood  tree  far 
up  the  bank.  The  brow  of  the  old  man  was  clouded 
like  the  sky  above,  and  well  it  might  be,  for  the 
flood  was  not  yet  at  its  height,  yet  the  rushing  cur- 
rent had  risen  until  the  rolling  waves  in  mid-stream 
leaped  up  to  within  a  terribly  short  distance  of  the 
rope.  Already  the  channel  was  bearing  down 


174  THE    FERRY 

great  timbers  from  where  the  miners  had  built  their 
wing  dams  the  summer  before,  while  at  times,  a 
lordly  spruce,  uprooted  bodily,  came  floating 
down,  and  the  tough,  strong  branches  reaching 
above  the  surface  had  more  than  once  tested  the 
strength  of  the  good  rope  stretching  across  the 
stream.  And  aside  from  the  desire  to  see  the  de- 
struction of  his  property,  if  it  were  to  be  destroyed, 
was  the  fascination  which  comes  to  us  all  when  we 
see  the  forces  of  nature  gather  to  sweep  away  the 
puny  structures  erected  by  man.  How  often  have 
we  felt  that  fascination  when  the  flames  started  up 
and  aided  by  its  allied  element,  the  air,  move  on  to 
the  destruction  of  some  great  city,  when  the  proud 
edifices  were,  one  after  another  leveled  to  the  earth 
and  in  their  places  left  naught  but  the  blackened 
masses  of  granite  and  shapeless  ribs  of  twisted 
steel  which  but  the  day  before  we  thought  could 
defy  the  combined  forces  of  all  the  elements.  So 
it  was  fascinating  to  gaze  upon  the  flood  of  water 
as  it  rolled  onward  to  mingle  its  turbid  volume 
with  the  blue  waves  of  the  ocean. 

The  season  so  far  had  given  promise  of  what 
the  miners  wanted — a  "wet  winter. "  The  fall  rains 
had  saturated  the  parched  earth  and  covered  the 
mountains  around  with  a  dazzling  vesture  of  snow. 
Then  had  come  this  storm,  cold  at  first,  but  grow- 
ing warmer  as  it  progressed,  until  the  sodden  snow, 


THE    FERRY  175 

yielding  at  last,  turned  each  little  gulch  into  a  rivu- 
let, and  each  swale  into  a  ravine.  And  the  river, 
already  swollen  beyond  the  high  water-mark  of 
former  years,  surged  on. 

"Father,  father;  don't  stand  there  in  the  cold 
all  day.  You  don't  want  to  be  sick  again,  do  you  ?" 

The  speaker,  who  had  opened  the  door  behind 
him,  here  came  out  upon  the  little  porch.  She  was 
a  girl  of  seventeen  or  eighteen  and  while  her  form 
was  that  of  the  old  ferryman,  the  blue  eyes  and 
golden  locks,  with  her  clear  complexion  and  regu- 
lar features  showed  that  she  had  taken  her  beauty 
from  her  mother's  side. 

"Hardly,  lass,"  said  the  old  man,  his  stern  fea- 
tures relaxing  into  a  smile,  as  he  looked  upon  the 
girl.  "But  I  have  been  kept  a  prisoner  so  long  in- 
doors that  it  is  pleasant  to  be  out  of  doors  once 
more.  The  rain  seems  to  have  quit  for  a  little.  I'll 
go  over  the  road  and  see  if  the  river  has  got  up  to 
Johnny's  cabin  yet." 

He  walked  across  the  road  and  left  the  girl 
standing  in  the  doorway.  Across  the  road  was  a 
fence,  forming  part  of  the  enclosure  of  a  rich  piece 
of  bottom  land  where  he  had  cultivated  a  little  gar- 
den. Folding  his  arms  on  the  fence  he  leaned  for- 
ward upon  them. 

The  cabin  of  "Johnny,"  whoever  he  might  be, 
which  was  the  apparent  object  of  his  solicitude, 


1 76  THE    FERRY 

was  seen  to  be  yet  in  place,  though  the  seething 
waters  had  cut  their  way  behind  it.  He  turned  to 
speak  to  the  girl,  but  she  had  gone  back  into  the 
house,  and  his  eyes  were  turned  in  another  direc- 
tion. This  was  toward  a  little  knoll,  where  a  single 
white  paling  betokened  a  lone  grave,  that  of  the 
mother  of  his  child.  As  he  stood  leaning  there, 
thoughts  of  the  past  rushed  to  his  mind,  and  for  a 
time  he  became  oblivious  to  the  leaden  sky,  the 
swollen  river  and  all  else.  A  few  drops  of  cold 
rain  falling  on  his  bare  hands  aroused  him  and  he 
turned  to  go  towards  the  house  when  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps  in  the  path  above  him, 
caused  him  to  stop  and  look  up. 

The  stranger  whose  arrival  was  thus  heralded 
came  down  the  path  and  the  mud  on  his  pants  and 
boots,  as  well  as  the  soaked  condition  of  his  hat 
and  upper  garments,  showed  that  he  had  traveled 
some  distance  in  the  storm.  In  years  he  was  young, 
not  to  exceed  twenty-five,  at  most.  He  stopped  as 
he  came  near  the  old  man : 

"Is  this  Gaunt's  Ferry?" 

"It  is." 

"Can  you  take  me  over,  at  once?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  undisguised  as- 
tonishment. "What!  Cross  the  river  tonight! 
No,  it  cannot  be  done !" 


THE    FERRY  177 

"It's  a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  me.    Take  me 


over." 


"It  will  be  a  matter  of  life  or  death,  probably 
death  to  us  both,  to  attempt  to  cross.  No,  I  tell 
you." 

"I  will  pay  you  the  worth  of  your  boat.  Money 
is  no  object  to  me  at  this  time."  He  thrust  his 
hand  into  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat  and  brought 
out  a  handful  of  black  and  gray  sand  and  gold  with 
two  or  three  bright  nuggets  mixed  in.  The  old 
man  cast  upon  him  a  glance  of  suspicion. 

"Money  is  an  object  to  me.  I  have  one  to  gain 
it  for — to  hoard  it  for." 

He  took  a  buckskin  purse  from  his  pocket  and 
poured  its  contents  into  his  hand.  There  was  one 
of  the  octagonal  "slugs"  which  passed  as  currency 
in  those  days.  "Should  you  give  me  a  hundred  of 
those  I  would  not  take  my  boat  out  into  the  cur- 
rent tonight." 

The  young  man  turned  sadly  away.  "Then  I 
must  make  my  way  to  some  place  where  there  are 
more  people.  How  far  from  here  is  the  nearest 
town?" 

"There  is  the  Third  Crossing,  three  miles  be- 
low," said  the  old  man,  in  a  more  kindly  tone. 
"But  you  are  wet  and  weary.  We  do  not  keep 
travelers  here,  but  I  guess  my  girl  can  give  you  a 
bit  and  sup  while  you " 


178  THE    FERRY 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  shout  of  exulta- 
tion coming  from  the  trail  above.  Looking  up 
they  saw  a  half  dozen  men,  making  their  way 
towards  them. 

"It's  all  the  same  now,"  said  the  young  man. 
4 'They  were  closer  after  me  than  I  thought.  They 
would  have  shot  me  in  cold  blood  while  crossing." 

"But  why  in  God's  name  should  they  shoot  at 
you  at  all?  What  have  you  done?" 

"Defended  my  rights,  that  is  all.  One  of  their 
gang  attacked  me  and  I  hurt  him  pretty  bad.  He 
may  die.  I  hope  not,  for  I  want  no  man's  blood  on 
my  conscience." 

The  old  man  went  hastily  into  the  house,  but  re- 
turned almost  instantly.  By  this  time  the  foremost 
of  the  party  had  reached  where  the  young  man  was 
standing. 

"Well,  Mr.  Sutherlin,  you  didn't  get  away  as 
easy  as  you  thought.  Hoped  to  get  to  Hangtown, 
did  you,  where  your  friends  could  hide  you  ?  We 
may  have  a  little  hangtown  of  our  own,  which  you 
won't  like  so  well." 

"I  was  not  going  to  Hangtown,  but  to  the 
county  seat  where  I  could  find  the  sheriff  and  let 
him  do  what  is  right,  and  let  justice  be  done." 

"Very  likely  story !  You'll  get  justice  you  won't 
like  if  Joe  Davis  passes  in  his  checks.  If  there's  a 
chance  for  him  to  get  well,  we'll  let  him  say,  but 


THE    FERRY  179 

you  can't  stay  there  any  more.  We  want  no  claim- 
jumpers  in  our  diggings." 

"That's  his  story,  Mr.  Gaunt;  now  hear  mine. 
I  took  up  a  claim  near  these  men  where  no  signs  of 
work  was  shown.  I  spent  two  months  getting 
ready  to  work  it,  and  no  one  said  a  word.  When 
they  found  the  claim  was  paying  good,  this  man, 
Davis,  came  over  and  said  the  claim  was  his.  I 
tried  to  reason  with  him  but  he  would  not  be  rea- 
soned with.  I  had  nearly  finished  panning  out  my 
week's  work  when  he  came.  He  grabbed  the  pan, 
then  I  hit  him  with  a  rock.  I  saw  two  of  his  friends 
coming  and  I  just  emptied  the  dust  in  this  pocket 
and  left.  I  was  a  stranger  there  and  had  no  friend 
to  help  me.  You  see  their  plan — if  Davis  dies 
they'll  get  rid  of  me  and  take  the  claim  themselves 
and  if  he  lives,  they'll  kindly  let  me  live,  if  I  will  go 
away,  unless  they  think  better  to  put  me  out  of  the 
way  at  once." 

"Very  well  done,  young  feller.  You'd  make  a 
good  lawyer;  you  can  tell  so  smooth  a  tale.  But 
you're  going  back  with  us  just  the  same.  Now  you 
can  start  back  up  that  hill,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

"Not  a  step  do  I  go.  If  you  are  going  to  mur- 
der me,  do  it  here,  and  now." 

"Who's  talking  about  murder,  fool?  If  we 
want  to  we'll  lash  you  on  a  horse  and  you'll  see  how 
you'll  like  that." 


180  THE    FERRY 

The  rest  of  the  pursuing  party  had  reached  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  and  it  was  clear  that  while  he  who 
had  been  spokesman  thus  far  was  leader  of  the 
party,  it  was  equally  clear  that  some  of  his  follow- 
ers dissented  with  him,  now  that  other  witnesses 
than  their  own  crowd  had  turned  up.  So,  when 
Mr.  Gaunt  spoke  up,  there  was  a  marked  attention 
manifested. 

"Let's  have  no  talk  of  murder,  or  violence,  but 
it  would  be  little  less  than  downright  murder  to 
make  that  young  man  return  over  the  same  road  he 
came.  When  he  reached  here  he  could  hardly  drag 
one  foot  after  the  other.  Let  him  stay  here  tonight 
and  in  the  morning  we  can  take  him  to  the  officers." 

"There's  sense  in  what  the  old  man  says,"  said 
one  of  the  footmen,  who  clearly  had  no  relish  for 
a  night  journey  over  the  road  they  had  just  come. 
"Let's  talk  it  over." 

The  pursuers  went  out  by  themselves  and  for  a 
few  minutes  were  engaged  in  an  animated  discus- 
sion. Sutherlin  improved  the  opportunity  thus 
afforded  to  place  the  ferryman  in  possession  of  all 
the  facts  relating  to  the  trouble  and  was  assured 
that  he  would  not  be  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  wounded  man's  friends  without  an  effort,  at 
least,  to  prevent  it. 

The  storm  at  this  time  was  again  raging 
furiously,  and  no  doubt  was  a  potent  factor  for  the 


THE    FERRY  l8l 

crowd  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion  to  which  it  came. 
The  old  man  led  the  way  into  the  house  and,  heap- 
ing fresh  fuel  upon  the  fire,  turned  to  hear  the 
result  of  their  conference. 

"We  will  stay  here,  as  you  propose,  but  where 
will  we  put  that  chap  to  keep  him  safe,  and  where 
will  we  sleep?" 

"You  can  put  him  in  my  room  and  I  will  sleep  on 
the  lounge.  One  of  your  number  can  stay  here  and 
keep  guard  while  the  rest  of  you  can  sleep  in  the 
barn,  where  there  is  plenty  of  loose  hay  and  horse 
blankets'." 

"Talk  enough,  if  the  room  will  keep  him  safe, 
old  man.  But  a  barn  will  be  a  cold  place  for  a  wet 
lot,  like  us." 

"It  is  the  only  place  I  have,  for  we  do  not 
attempt  to  keep  wayfarers.  You  can  dry  your- 
selves pretty  well  by  such  a  fire  as  this  while  my 
girl  is  getting  your  supper." 

The  other  speaker  opened  the  door  and  took  a 
look  at  the  bedroom.  It  was  simply  furnished, 
having  only  a  chair,  table,  bookcase  and  single 
bedstead  in  the  corner.  There  was  no  mode  of 
egress,  except  through  the  room  where  the  fire- 
place was.  The  room  was  a  side  one,  built  out 
toward  the  river  and  being  on  the  lower  hillside 
was  on  posts  and  eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  ground. 
There  was  a  window,  of  course. 


1 82  THE    FERRY 

"It's  all  right,  boys,"  he  said  when  he  came 
back.  "We'll  have  to  drive  a  nail  in  the  sash  and 
that'll  fix  things." 

Luckily  it  had  been  baking  day  with  Helen,  so 
that  she  soon  had  a  meal  of  baked  potatoes,  bread, 
bacon  and  coffee  in  readiness  for  their  unexpected 
guests.  Humble  though  it  might  be  called,  the 
wearied  crowd  did  it  ample  justice  and  returned  to 
the  comfort  of  the  big  fire-place. 

They  had  provided  themselves  with  oilcloth  gar- 
ments before  starting  out  in  the  storm  to  the  pur- 
suit. Sutherlin  was  given  the  place  nearest  the 
fire,  for  his  captors  saw  that  he  was  in  far  worse 
shape  than  themselves,  and  with  a  spasm  of  gen- 
erosity gave  him  the  warmest  seat.  So  that  the 
night  waned  on  till  even  the  strongest  of  them  felt 
the  need  of  rest,  when  Sutherlin  was  ordered  to  go 
to  bed,  and  did  so,  passing  his  yet  moist  garments 
out  to  be  hung  over  the  backs  of  chairs.  A  short 
conflab  followed  his  departure,  when  it  was  agreed 
which  one  should  act  as  guard,  and,  locking  the 
door  of  the  room  securely,  they  left  the  prisoner 
to  the  care  of  the  guard  and  followed  the  old 
ferryman  to  the  barn,  to  provide  for  their  own 
comfort.  Soon  the  ferryman  returned,  and  after 
exchanging  a  few  words  with  the  guard,  drew  off 
his  muddy  boots  and  lay  down  for  such  repose  as 
was  held  in  store  for  him.  The  fatigue  of  the 


THE    FERRY  183 

evening  told  on  him,  and  soon  his  deep,  regular 
breathing  showed  him  to  be  in  deep  slumber. 

The  clock  pointed  to  the  hour  of  midnight  when 
the  door  opened  and  Helen  stood  on  the  thresh- 
old. Light  as  was  her  footstep,  it  aroused  the 
guard,  who  was  nodding  in  the  rocking  chair.  She 
took  a  look  at  her  sleeping  father,  then  raked  the 
embers  together  and  put  on  more  fuel.  The  guard 
looked  on  in  silence  until  she  turned  to  leave  the 
room,  when  he  uttered  a  low  "Hist,"  placed  his 
finger  on  his  lips  for  silence,  and  beckoned  her  to 
come  toward  him.  Unwilling  to  offend  him,  she 
approached  slowly  until  she  was  close  to  him  and 
stopped. 

"That  your  father?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered,  wondering  at  his 
question. 

"Take  a  bit  of  advice,  gal.  Don't  let  him  go 
with  us  tomorrow  as  he  talked  of  doing." 

"Do  you  mean  that  those  with  you  will  do  injury 
to  him?" 

"Never  mind  what  I  mean,  only  keep  him  at 
home.  It  may  not  be  healthy  for  him  to  go.  Now 

go." 

The  girl  was  as  pale  as  death  itself.  "Tell  me 
what  you  mean,"  she  insisted. 

"I've  told  you  enough  now.  Take  my  advice; 
that  is  all  I  can  say." 


184  THE    FERRY 

"I  understand  your  meaning,  I  think,  but  I 
doubt  if  he  will  mind  me.  But  I  thank  you  all  the 
same.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  make  you 
more  comfortable?" 

"No-o.  Maybe  yes,  though.  I'm  powerful 
tuckered  out  and  can  hardly  keep  awake — is  there 
any  liquor  in  the  house?" 

"None,  only  what  father  keeps  for  medicine." 

"Get  me  a  drink  of  it,  gal,  and  we're  even.  I've 
give  you  some  advice.  You  give  me  the  drink." 

She  turned  and  passed  as  if  unwillingly  through 
the  door.  Then  returning  she  spread  a  great  cloak 
over  her  father's  sleeping  form,  and  stood  a  mo- 
ment to  see  if  he  would  awake.  Then  she  turned 
again  and  passed  through  the  door,  nodding  to 
the  guard  as  she  did  so.  In  the  cupboard  were 
two  demijohns,  from  one  of  these  she  poured  a 
potation  into  a  teacup  and  busied  herself  a  moment 
with  it  before  she  returned  to  the  room.  He  took 
the  offered  libation  and  tasted  it. 

"It  tastes  bitter,"  he  said. 

"Father  puts  herbs  in  it.  I  told  you  he  used  it 
for  medicine."  He  drank  it  down.  "That'll  brace 
me  up,  thank  you.  There's  some  one  coming. 
You'd  better  git." 

He  was  right,  for  scarce  had  the  door  closed  on 
the  retreating  form  of  the  young  girl  than  the  front 


THE    FERRY  185 

door  opened  and  two  pf  the  party  from  the  barn 
entered,  and  looked  suspiciously  around. 

"What  light  was  that  we  saw?"  asked  one. 

"Light?  Oh,  yes;  the  girl  was  in  here  just  now 
and  covered  the  old  chap  better.  I  s'pose  she's 
afraid  he'll  get  cold." 

The  explanation  did  not  seem  to  satisfy  the 
inquirer,  for  he  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  bedroom 
and  held  out  his  hand  for  the  key.  It  was  given 
him  by  the  guard,  and  he  opened  the  door  and 
saw  the  form  of  Sutherlin  on  the  bed  in  the  corner, 
so  he  closed  and  relocked  the  door,  and  grumbling 
at  having  come  on  a  fool's  errand,  hied  back  to  his 
quarters  in  the  barn. 

For  a  time  the  glass  of  liquor  seemed  to  have 
the  bracing-up  effect  on  the  guard  he  had  antici- 
pated, but  when  its  exhilarating  effect  began  to 
wear  off  he  felt  a  drowsiness  fall  upon-  him  which 
he  could  not  successfully  combat  and  to  which  he 
finally  succumbed.  He  had  barely  given  the  proof 
of  sleep  when  the  door  softly  opened  again  and 
Helen  looked  cautiously  in.  She  had  removed  her 
shoes  and  gathering  Sutherlin's  clothes  (now 
warm  and  dry) ,  passed  in  front  of  the  guard,  who 
sat  in  the  rocking  chair,  revolver  in  lap,  and  noise- 
lessly turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  The  firelight 
showed  the  captive  partly  raised  in  bed,  for,  as 
may  be  imagined,  he  had  had  little  desire  for  sleep, 


1 86  THE    FERRY 

and  his  watchful  senses  were  strained  at  the  least 
sound.  She  laid  them  across  the  bed,  leaned  over 
and  whispered:  "Dress  quickly  and  quietly;  take 
your  boots  in  your  hand  and  follow  me."  He  lost 
no  time  in  obeying  this  unlooked-for  command, 
and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  stood  beside  her  in 
the  room  where  he  had  eaten  supper.  She  took 
him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  through  the  darkness, 
until  the  cold  air  told  him  they  were  out  of  doors. 
The  storm  had  ceased  and  here  and  there  a  few 
scattering  bunches  of  stars  lighted  the  darkness. 
At  her  command  he  drew  on  his  foot-gear  while 
she  did  the  same,  and  then  taking  his  hand  again 
led  him  down  an  invisible  path  till  he  knew  by  the 
swish  of  the  waves  that  they  were  at  the  river. 
There  was  a  weird  light  on  the  surface  of  the  water 
and  he  could  see  the  ferryboat  as  it  moved  back 
and  forth  in  the  little  bay.  She  had  already  un- 
fastened the  rope  which  held  it  to  the  big  cotton- 
wood. 

uYou  must  carry  me  to  the  boat,"  she  whispered. 
"Then  push  it  out  of  the  shallow  water  and  get 
on  yourself." 

"My  God!  Miss  Gaunt,  what  are  you  intending 
to  do?" 

"To  take  you  over  the  river." 


THE    FERRY  187 

"I  will  not  allow  you  to  imperil  your  life  thus; 
I  am  out  of  their  clutches  now,  thanks  to  you  and 
can  easily  hide  from  them." 

"Yes,  and  what  will  they  say?  That  we  con- 
nived at  your  escape  and  their  vengeance  will  fall 
on  my  father.  Go,  if  you  wish;  but  I  shall  go  over 
the  river  and  arouse  the  neighbors  on  the  other 
side,  above  the  bend.  Make  your  choice  quickly, 
for  the  chickens  are  giving  warning  of  daybreak." 

He  had  no  more  to  say,  but  lifted  her  in  his 
arms  and  waded  through  the  shallow  water  to  the 
boat.  Placing  her  upon  it  he  pushed  it  toward  the 
current  until  it  had  swung  free  and  clear  from  the 
land  and  then  climbed  on  board. 

It  took  them  some  little  time  to  loosen  and  un- 
coil the  great  guy  rope,  and  convert  what  had  been 
the  bow  of  the  boat  into  its  stern.  Meanwhile  the 
glimmerings  of  approaching  daylight  began  to 
show  themselves  in  the  east.  Then  came  the  haul 
upon  the  other  guy,  to  turn  the  stern  into  the  bow, 
but  that,  too,  was  accomplished  at  last  and  Suther- 
lin,  under  her  directions,  began  to  pull  on  the  rope 
to  bring  the  boat  where  it  would  feel  the  strength 
of  the  current.  Silently  as  they  had  tried  to  work, 
there  was  more  or  less  noise,  partly  deadened  by 
the  wash  of  the  river  as  it  rushed  through  the 
rapids  below,  yet  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  one 
of  the  party  who  had  awakened  before  the  others. 


1 88  THE    FERRY 

He  ran  to  the  road  and  could  scarcely  believe  the 
evidence  of  his  own  senses,  as  he  saw  the  boat  with 
its  occupants  working  slowly  to  the  center  of  the 
stream.  With  a  wild  yell  to  arouse  the  others,  he 
rushed  into  the  house  and,  seeing  the  open  bedroom 
door,  knew  that  their  prey  had  escaped  them. 
Bestowing  a  kick  upon  the  still  sleeping  guard,  he 
grabbed  a  rifle  from  where  they  had  been  stacked 
in  the  corner  and,  darting  out  of  the  door,  fired  at 
Sutherlin,  who  was  still  pulling  at  the  rope.  But 
the  motion  of  the  boat,  the  uncertain  light,  and  his 
own  excitement  made  his  aim  poor  and  the  bullet 
sped  harmlessly  by. 

"Down  behind  the  gunwale!  Down,  I  say!" 
screamed  the  girl.  "They  are  all  gathering  with 
guns.  Now  they  are  running  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  Down,  I  say!"  she  repeated,  fairly  push- 
ing him  to  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  where  the  thick 
gunwale  was  a  shield  no  bullet  of  that  day  could 
penetrate. 

But  the  boat  had  not  yet  reached  that  part  of  the 
stream  where  the  current,  striking  slantingly 
against  the  side  would  force  it  rapidly  along.  A 
few  more  pulls  on  the  rope  would  have  placed  it 
there.  She  advanced,  steadying  herself  by  the 
rope  rail  and  reached  for  the  ferry  rope. 

"Stop,  gal!"  came  a  voice  from  the  crowd  on 
the  bank,  which  had  now  got  down  to  the  water's 


THE    FERRY  189 

edge.  "I  don't  want  to  hurt  a  gal,  but  by  the  Eter- 
nal I'll  do  it.  Boys,  look  and  see  if  you  can  find  a 
skiff  and  we'll  bring  that  boat  back  yet.  I'll  draw  a 
bead  on  that  gal  if  she  makes  another  move." 

Two  of  the  party  started  up  the  river,  where  she 
knew  a  small  boat  was  moored.  Her  father,  who 
had  been  awakened  with  the  others  and  had  fol- 
lowed them  bare-foot  to  the  river,  turned  and  be- 
gan as  hastily  as  his  years  would  permit,  to  ascend 
the  hill. 

Then  her  fortitude  gave  way.  "My  father,  my 
father !  Have  I  only  placed  you  in  greater  danger 
than  ever.  Have  you  gone  to  get  your  weapons  to 
fight  that  gang  of  ruffians  to  save  me.  The  cow- 
ards !  But  I  will  thwart  them  yet." 

In  the  leather  shield  nailed  to  one  of  the  gun- 
wales was  an  ax.  She  sprang  and  seized  it  and 
with  one  blow  severed  the  guy  rope  at  the  shore  end 
of  the  boat.  It  swirled  rapidly  round  and  the  im- 
petus thus  given  carried  the  boat  two  or  three 
yards  farther  into  the  stream,  where  the  full  force 
of  the  current  was  felt.  The  boat  held  now  by  the 
one  pulley  surged  backward  and  forward,  while 
the  stout  rope  bent  with  the  strain  like  the  bow  of 
an  archer. 

Before  her  intention  could  be  divined  by  the 
wondering  crowd  on  the  shore,  she  sprang  to  the 
forward  part  of  the  boat  and  with  another  blow 


190  THE    FERRY 

of  her  ax,  struck  the  forward  guy,  which  parted 
with  a  sound  which,  to  those  on  shore,  was  like  the 
thunder  of  a  cannon.  The  current  whirled  the  boat 
away,  while  the  watching  spectators  held  up  their 
hands  and  gave  a  cry  of  horror  at  the  sight. 

"Great  Heavens,  Miss  Gaunt!  You  have 
thrown  your  life  away  to  save  that  of  a  stranger 
whom  you  never  saw  before.  Would  to  God  I  had 
not  come  on  the  boat!" 

"Well,  it's  too  late  to  repent  now,  and  besides  I 
am  not  as  unselfish  as  you  think.  I  took  you  on 
this  boat  to  save  my  father  from  danger.  If  that 
gang  of  cowards  could  have  butchered  us  all,  no 
doubt  they  would  have  done  it,  but  when  you  and 
I  may  turn  up  as  witnesses  against  them,  they  will 
not  dare  to  harm  a  hair  of  his  head." 

"You  think  then  we  have  a  chance  to  be  saved?" 

"Nay,  that  I  cannot  say,  but  the  river  will 
hardly  be  so  merciless  as  those  from  whom  we  have 
escaped.  Those  rapids  we  have  just  passed  could 
not  have  been  passed  a  day  ago;  but  you  see  we 
passed  over  as  if  the  boat  were  only  a  feather.  And 
now — but  do  you  know  what  day  it  is  today?" 

"Yes,  it's  Sunday;  I  was  cleaning  up  the  boxes 
when  the  trouble  began." 

"Yes,  it's  Sunday;  but  that's  not  all.  You  are 
taking  a  boat  ride  with  me  on  Christmas  morning. 
Now,  tell  me  your  name,  so  I  will  know  how  to 


THE    FERRY  19! 

address  you.  Mine's  Helen;  call  me  that.  We 
must  not  be  too  formal  while  our  enforced  com- 
panionship lasts." 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  with  undisguised 
admiration.  "Well,  Helen,  since  that  is  what  I 
am  to  call  you,  I  have  heard  and  read  of  heroines, 
but  you  are  the  first  with  whom  I  have  been 
brought  in  contact.  My  name  is  George." 

"Well,  George,  spare  your  compliments  till  a 
more  fitting  season.  We  are  in  no  peril  so  long  as 
the  boat  stays  in  the  current.  It  is  when  it  is 
thrown  on  shore,  if  so  it  be,  that  we  must  look 
out,  and  not  get  crushed  or  tangled  in  the  debris. 
I  know  this  river." 

For  want  of  better  seats  they  had  sat  on  the  floor 
of  the  boat  and  were  so  earnest  in  their  talk  that 
they  had  taken  little  note  of  their  progress.  He 
raised  himself  up  and  looked  at  the  shore.  "You 
know  this  river,  you  say.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  we 
were  floating  up  stream." 

She  sprang  up  and  gave  a  cry  of  delight.  "So 
we  are;  we  have  been  thrown  into  the  big  eddy 
and  are  saved.  Take  that  board  George,  and  go 
forward  and  paddle  the  boat  to  shore." 

He  did  so,  and  in  a  little  while  the  bow  was  so 
near  that  he  could  catch  and  pull  the  overhanging 
willows.  In  this  way  they  moved  slowly  up  stream, 
George  pulling  on  the  branches  while  Helen  busied 


192  THE    FERRY 

herself  in  untwisting  the  strands  of  what  was  left 
of  the  guy  rope.  Soon  they  floated  so  near  land 
that  he  jumped  ashore  with  one  of  the  strands  and 
made  the  boat  fast  to  an  alder  tree.  The  waves 
of  the  eddy  made  landing  more  difficult  to  her, 
but  it  was  accomplished  at  last  and  they  stood  on 
the  firm  earth  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  side. 

"I  know  this  place,"  she  said,  uand  we  shall  have 
a  hard  climb  to  get  to  the  path  above.  But  let 
us  thank  heaven,  that  on  this  day  of  days  we  have 
escaped  all  the  perils  which  beset  us." 

She  knelt  on  the  shelly  rock  and  George  knelt 
beside  her;  then,  following  the  way  she  pointed 
out,  they  went  farther  up  the  river  and  commenced 
the  toilsome  ascent.  Clinging  to  a  bush  here,  an 
overhanging  rock  there,  they  climbed  slowly  until 
the  beaten  path  was  before  them.  Then  they 
rested  for  some  time  on  the  damp  trunk  of  a  fallen 
tree. 

"Our  ways  part  here,"  said  Helen,  rising.  "You 
take  the  down  river  trail,  which  leads  to  your  des- 
tination. I  shall  go  up  to  the  ferry  and  let  father 
see  that  I  am  safe." 

"But,  Helen,  I  cannot  go  and  leave  you  alone 
here.  Is  there  no  lady  friend  to  whose  house  I 
can  take  you?" 

"Not  this  side  of  the  ferry.  Above  a  little  way 
the  Senora  Morena  will  give  me  welcome." 


THE    FERRY  193 

"Let  me  go  at  least  with  you  to  the  ferry." 

"You  can  do  me  no  good  and  may  do  yourself 
harm.  Now  go." 

He  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  "I 
want  to  thank  you  once  more,  but  I  have  no  words 
that  can  tell  you  my  thoughts.  Goodbye.  You 
shall  see  me  again  and  know  me  better  than  you 
do."  He  turned  and  they  went  apart.  But  the 
girl,  now  the  excitement  of  the  adventure  was  over, 
felt  her  strength  giving  way.  She  plodded  wearily 
up  the  path,  resting  from  time  to  time,  and  at  last 
reached  the  goal  she  was  seeking — the  ferry. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight,  for  the  would-be  lynch- 
ers  had,  as  she  prophesied,  made  a  hasty  departure, 
while  her  father,  saddling  one  of  his  horses,  had 
galloped  down  the  river  to  trace  the  boat.  His 
keen  eye  soon  saw  it,  moored  to  the  opposite  shore, 
and  assured  of  his  daughter's  safety,  he  rode  slowly 
back.  As  he  rode  in  front  of  his  door,  Helen 
stood  up  and  waved  her  apron.  When  he  saw  it, 
he  threw  his  hat  in  the  air,  and  gave  a  yell  of  de- 
light, which  his  daughter  heard  above  the  roar  of 
the  river.  Then,  motioning  her  destination,  she 
went  her  way. 

Two  days  afterward  there  was  an  odd  chance 
meeting  at  the  Third  Crossing,  three  miles  below. 
Sutherlin,  with  two  of  his  sturdy  friends  and  the 
sheriff  of  the  county,  to  whom  George  had  told 


194  THE    FERRY 

what  had  happened,  and  who  thought  the  matter 
should  be  investigated  all  around,  came  down  the 
hill  from  the  west  and  signaled  to  the  ferryman  to 
come  over.  While  they  were  waiting,  Helen, 
accompanied  by  the  Senora's  eldest  boy,  came  rid- 
ing down  from  the  east.  When  the  ferry  reached 
its  landing,  old  man  Gaunt  was  one  of  the  passen- 
gers, and,  rushing  forward,  clasped  his  daughter 
in  his  arms. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  heart  of  each  was  too  full 
for  utterance,  while  the  others  looked  silently  and 
sympathetically  on. 

"It's  a  poor  home  I've  got  to  take  you  to,  daugh- 
ter," said  the  old  man.  "Our  ferry  is  gone." 

"Not  so,  Mr.  Qaunt,"  said  Sutherlin,  coming 
forward  and  extending  his  hand,  which  each  shook 
heartily.  "You  shall  have  another  boat  there  soon 
as  it  can  be  built." 

The  old  man  smiled  sadly.  "It's  not  the  loss  of 
the  boat  alone.  My  garden,  my  barn,  even  the 
ferry  site  itself  is  a  ruin.  Only  the  house  is  left. 
We  shall  have  to  begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder 
again,  my  girl." 

"You'll  find  me  ready  to  help  you,  father." 

"I  want  something  to  say  about  this,"  sajid 
George.  "I've  got  the  best  claim  I  ever  had  in 
California,  and  haven't  a  partner  in  it.  You  shall 
be  my  partner  if  you  will." 


THE    FERRY  195 

"Consider  that  as  settled,  Mr.  Gaunt,"  said  the 
sheriff.  "That's  a  good  place  to  plant  the  foot  of 
your  ladder." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  offer,  but  I  am  not  one  of 
them  who  want  something  for  nothing." 

"Then  buy  in  and  pay  as  it  comes  out;  we  will 
let  the  sheriff  say  what  a  half  interest  is  worth." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "There  has  been 
bad  blood  over  that  claim,  and  I  don't  want  to  buy 
a  quarrel." 

It  seemed  impossible  to  move  him,  and  the  only 
thing  he  would  agree  to  was  to  go  with  the  sheriff's 
party.  They  took  the  road  by  the  way  of  the 
ferry,  for  Helen  was  to  be  left  at  home.  When 
they  got  there,  they  saw  that  the  ruin  of  the  ferry 
was  complete.  A  landslide  had  occurred  above, 
and  when  the  pent-up  waters  were  let  loose  they 
had  spread  over  the  ferry  garden,  cutting  a  new 
channel  through  the  soft,  black  loam,  while  where 
the  still  waters  in  which  the  ferry  boat  had  moved 
a  great  wall  of  boulders  had  blocked  the  former 
stream.  Leaving  Helen  the  party  went  on  to 
where  the  new  diggings  discovered  the  year 
before  lay,  and  where  the  first  incident  of  our  story 
occurred. 

There  was  no  one  at  work  in  any  of  the  mines. 
A  horse  stood  at  Joe  Davis's  door  and  the  sheriff, 
who  had  an  eye  for  a  good  horse,  pronounced  it 


196  THE    FERRY 

to  be  that  of  Dr.  Wenshaw.  He  was  right,  for 
when  the  party  drew  near  the  door,  Dr.  Wenshaw 
came  out. 

"How's  Joe?"  asked  the  sheriff. 

"All  right,  now." 

"Can  he  talk?" 

"Talk!  If  you'd  hear  him  curse  himself  for  a 
fool,  you'd  think  so.  Go  in  and  see  him." 

The  party  entered  the  cottage  where  the  re- 
doubtable Joe  sat  in  a  chair,  while  the  pseudo 
guard  sat  close  by,  probably  in  attendance  on  the 
invalid. 

"Hallo,  Joe!  Rather  a  bad  looking  head  on 
you,"  said  the  sheriff,  who,  being  a  good  politician, 
knew  the  Christened  name  of  all  the  old  stand-bys. 

"None  worse  than  I  deserve.  Hallo,  young  fel- 
low !  You  here,  too !  Hope  you  haven't  come  to 
take  me  off,  for  I'm  in  a  bad  fix  for  traveling  just 
now.  You  learnt  me  that  my  cabeza  is  not  as  hard 
as  a  granite  boulder,  when  you  bounced  one  off'n 
it.  Sarved  me  right,  too." 

"Then  you  admit  Mr.  Sutherlin  here  was  in 
the  right?" 

"In  course  he  was.  I  did  have  a  notice  on  that 
claim  onct,  but  Slocum  axed  me  to  be  his  pard,  and 
I  let  the  notice  run  out.  Then  this  young  fellow 
fixed  it  up,  an'  when  I  saw  how  much  better  it  paid 


THE    FERRY  197 

than  mine  and  Slocum's,  I  got  hostile.  I  thought 
I'd  run  him  off,  but  he  didn't  run  worth  a  cuss." 

"And  where's  Slocum?" 

"He  lit  out  sudden,  you  bet.  He  said  he  never 
meant  to  shoot  at  the  gal;  thought  she'd  skeer;  but 
she  didn't  much.  He's  powerful  a  feared  you'll  get 
after  him  for  that." 

"Well,  where's  he  gone?" 

"Said  he'd  go  to  Salt  Lake,  but  I  guess  he  lied. 
He  was  so  cut  up  the  way  the  gal  worked  the 
crowd  that  he  said  he'd  go  where  he  could  marry 
a  hull  lot  of  wimmen  an'  git  revenge  on  the  hull 
female  sect." 

The  crowd  laughed  heartily  at  the  absent  Slo- 
cum's  unique  idea  of  vengeance.  Good  humor 
being  in  reign,  a  confab  was  entered  into,  with  the 
result  that  George's  ownership  was  confirmed. 
Mr.  Gaunt  bought  in  for  $1,000,  to  be  paid  "as 
it  came  out"  and  none  of  the  would-be  lynchers 
were  to  be  prosecuted,  except  the  irate  Slocum,  if 
he  ever  was  found. 

Willing  hands  turned  to  build  an  addition  to 
George's  cabin,  suitable  for  its  new  occupants,  and 
in  a  few  days  Mr.  Gaunt  and  his  daughter  moved 
in.  The  claim  did  not  belie  its  promise,  and  when 
the  mining  season  was  over  the  old  man  had  paid 
the  price  he  had  set  for  him  and  had  a  nice  purse 
full  of  shining  metal  for  his  own. 


198  THE    FERRY 

George's  friends  returned  to  their  homes  at  the 
close  of  the  mining  season,  and  after  a  good  rest 
the  partners  got  the  claim  ready  for  the  next  sea- 
son's work.  The  fall  rains  had  set  in  ere  this  was 
finished,  and  they  were  returning  home  in  triumph. 
Half  way  they  met  Helen  coming  to  meet  them,  as 
she  had  often  done.  Just  then  the  old  man  remem- 
bered he  had  left  a  pick  behind  and  went  back  after 
it,  discreetly  leaving  the  young  folks  alone. 

"Helen,"  he  said,  "yesterday  you  made  the  hap- 
piest man  in  the  world  by  promising  to  be  my  wife. 
Make  me  happy  again  today,  and  tell  me  when  it 
shall  be." 

uWhen  what  shall  be?"  she  asked  demurely. 

"You  little  witch,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Our 
marriage." 

"George.  I  hadn't  thought  about  that.  But 
you  have  been  so  considerate  in  everything,  that 
I'll  pray  your  mercy  for  a  little  time  to  think  it 
over.  But  it  strikes  me  now  that  it  might  be  a 
good  way  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  our  boat 
ride,  when  we  went  over  the  rapids  from  the  Ferry. 


Leaves 

From   an   Argonaut's 
Note   Book 

PART  II 


"A  little  nonsense  now  and  then 
Is  relished  by  the  wisest  men." 


SIMPSON'S   THANKSGIVING 

It  was  the  misfortune  of  my  friend  Simpson  that 
he  was  a  bachelor.  And  getting  to  be  an  old 
bachelor,  at  that.  I  say  it  was  his  misfortune,  be- 
cause I  happen  to  know  it  was  not  his  fault,  for  to 
my  knowledge  he  had  made  several  efforts  to  get 
out  of  that  most  undesirable  state.  But  although 
there  are  those  who  argue  that  there  is  a  mate  for 
every  man  in  the  world  if  he  only  looks  in  the 
right  place,  that  every  Jack  has  his  Jill,  my  friend 
Simpson  seemed  to  be  a  frightful  example  of  the 
fact  that  there  are  exceptions  to  all  rules,  he  being 
the  exception  in  this  particular  case.  He  was  tol- 
erably good  looking,  had  a  fair  stake  "salted 
down"  and  was,  withal,  as  good-natured  a  chap  as 
you  could  want  to  see.  But  all  these  good  quali- 
ties proved  no  recommendation  to  the  hearts  of  tha 
fair  damsels  of  the  flourishing  mining  camp  of 
Rabbit  Hill,  and  at  last  Jack  Simpson  gave  up  in 
despair  and  seemed  to  be  reconciled  to  settle  down 
to  a  quiet  life  of  single  blessedness. 

My  opinion  of  the  matter  was  that  Jack  was 
rather  too  fastidious.  Of  course,  when  a  man  is 
looking  for  a  life  partner,  he  is  a  Muggins  if  he 


2O2  SIMPSON'S  THANKSGIVING 


bites  at  the  first  bait  which  is  thrown  him,  and 
then,  again,  there  are  some  points  in  the  ueternal 
fitness  of  things"  which  ought  not  to  be  over- 
looked. So,  when  Jack  made  his  last  "break"  after 
Old  Snipkin's  daughter,  Betty,  who,  though  taller 
than  her  mother,  was  only  fifteen  years  old,  I  proph- 
esied it  would  not  be  long  before  he  would  come 
to  grief  in  that  quarter  also.  And  my  head  was 
level.  When  he  mentioned  the  matter  to  Betty, 
she  laughed  as  only  a  Pike  County  girl  can  laugh, 
and  told  him  he  had  better  wait  until  her  mother 
became  a  widder  and  then  try  for  her.  This  heart- 
less allusion  to  the  forty  years  of  Mr.  Simpson  had 
a  wonderful  effect  on  him.  He  went  to  his  cabin, 
on  Whisky  Ravine,  discarded  linen  shirts  and  black 
cloth  breeches,  and  for  a  year  or  two  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  Nature  had  di- 
vided mankind  into  two  sexes,  and  that  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  woman  in  existence. 

But  as  the  years  rolled  on,  the  memory  of  this 
last  usnub"  died  away  sufficiently  so  that  Jack  once 
more  made  his  appearance  in  society.  The  fact 
was  that  Jack  was  really  in  love  this  time,  and  true 
love,  like  true  merit,  is  always  modest  and  hesitat- 
ing. Once  or  more  when  in  the  presence  of  the 
charming  little  widow  whose  image  held  posses- 
sion of  his  heart,  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  pour- 
ing forth  the  pent-up  feelings  of  his  bosom,  but  the 


SIMPSON'S    THANKSGIVING  203 

thoughts  of  the  cruel  rebuffs  of  former  years 
checked  the  words  upon  his  lips  and  the  tale  of  his 
love  remained  untold.  So  it  might  have  been  for 
years  had  it  not  been  for  certain  incidents  which  I 
now  propose  to  relate  in  this  most  veracious  his- 
tory. I  cannot  say  that  the  concealment  of  his 
feelings  seemed  to  "prey  on  the  damask  cheek"  of 
my  friend,  in  fact,  his  cheek  and  also  his  nose  as- 
sumed rather  more  of  a  damask  tinge  than  had 
been  their  wont  before  he  commenced  to  cherish 
his  hidden  love.  Jim  Smith  said  it  was  whisky  that 
Jack  was  using  for  "nose  paint,"  but  Jim  Smith  was 
not  reliable. 

The  charming  little  widow  lived  in  a  charming 
little  cottage,  near  the  junction  of  Whisky  Ravine 
and  Nugget  Gulch,  half  a  mile  away  from  the 
lonely  cabin  of  my  friend  Simpson.  Often,  when 
that  gentleman  passed  the  charming  cottage  on  his 
way  to  the  Hill,  did  the  thought  arise,  how  happy 
he  could  be  if  he  were  only  the  possessor  of  that 
cottage  and  its  inmates,  also.  For  the  lamented 
Mr.  Blyther  left  three  images  of  himself  to  the 
care  of  his  bereaved  spouse  and,  in  fact,  it  was 
through  the  instrumentality  of  one  of  these  olive 
branches  that  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Simpson 
and  the  charming  widow  was  brought  about. 

"What  do  they  always  have  Thanksgiving  Day 
in  November  for?"  was  the  mental  inquiry  which 


204  SIMPSON  S    THANKSGIVING 

Mr.  Simpson  propounded  to  himself,  as  he  stood  in 
the  door  and  watched  the  falling  raindrops.  The 
truth  was,  it  had  been  a  continuous  storm  for  sev- 
eral days  and  Mr.  Simpson's  larder  sadly  needed 
replenishing.  It  had  been  his  intention  to  replenish 
and  at  the  same  time  take  his  dinner  at  the  Rabbit 
Hill  Hotel,  but  the  storm  discouraged  him  and 
after  taking  a  last  look  at  the  clouded  sky  he  re- 
luctantly abandoned  that  idea  and  put  on  a  fresh 
pot  of  beans.  Having  thus  initiated  culinary  pro- 
ceedings for  the  festival,  Mr.  Simpson  took  down 
the  can  in  which  he  kept  his  yeast  and  stirring  in 
some  more  flour,  set  it  above  the  fireplace.  This 
done,  there  was  nothing  more  to  do  until  the  yeast 
got  into  working  order,  and  Mr.  Simpson,  taking 
the  last  week's  paper  from  the  shelf,  prepared  to 
put  in  the  interim  to  the  best  possible  advantage. 

The  boiling  and  sputtering  of  the  beanpot 
joined  to  a  clear  conscience,  produced  a  soothing 
effect  on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Simpson  and  he  was  soon 
in  the  land  of  dreams.  And  probably  there  was 
no  way  in  which  he  could  have  passed  the  time 
more  happily.  For,  when  a  man  is  sound  asleep 
he  is  out  of  misery.  He  does  not  care  whether  the 
diggings  pay  an  ounce  a  day,  or  only  grub,  and  it 
does  not  matter  to  him  whether  we  are  going  to 
have  a  wet  winter,  or  are  threatened  with  a  dry 
one ;  in  truth,  he  is,  for  the  time  being,  as  free  from 


SIMPSON  S    THANKSGIVING  205 

all  sublunary  ills  as  if  he  were  the  inhabitant  of  an- 
other planet.  But  with  the  awakening  came  a  re- 
newed sense  of  the  sorrows  of  life,  as  Mr.  Simpson 
found.  As  he  opened  his  eyes  he  saw  that  there 
was  a  lull  in  the  storm  and  the  widow's  boy  had 
taken  advantage  of  it  to  come  in  search  of  the 
family  cow. 

"Come  in,  Jeff,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  throwing 
open  the  door  and  poking  the  embers  together  un- 
der the  bean-kettle.  "Come  in  and  see  me.  It  is 
all-fired  lonesome  sitting  here  alone  on  a  rainy  day. 
What's  the  news,  now?"  he  continued,  as  Jeff 
sidled  up  to  the  fireplace  where  he  stood,  scratch- 
ing his  head. 

"There  hain't  nothin',"  said  Jeff,  grinning. 

"No  news;  why,  what  a  boy  you  are,  now. 
"Why,  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  could  always  find 
plenty  to  tell  and  talk  about,"  and  Mr.  Simpson, 
taking  his  bread  pan  poured  it  half  full  of  flour. 

"What  be  you  goin'  to  do?"  queried  Jeff. 

"Make  some  bread,  my  boy.  Must  have  warm 
bread,  you  know,  for  a  Thanksgiving  dinner. 
Maybe  you'll  be  an  old  bach  some  of  these  days 
and  have  to  make  bread."  And  Mr.  Simpson  took 
down  the  yeast  can  from  over  the  fireplace  and 
looked  into  it.  Instantly  a  change  came  over  his 
placid  countenance  and  he  gave  vent  to  a  number  of 


206  SIMPSON'S  THANKSGIVING 

exclamations  more  remarkable  for  force  than  ele- 
gance. 

I  don't  know  that  I  blame  Mr.  Simpson  for  that 
little  ebullition  of  temper.  I  felt  the  same  Way  my- 
self, when  I  found  a  drowned  mouse  in  my  sour 
dough.  And  I  did  just  what  Simpson  did;  took 
the  can  out  of  doors  and  kicked  it  out  of  sight. 

"I'll  have  to  go  it  on  beans  and  cold  bread, 
Jeff,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  when  he  recovered  his 
equanimity.  "Never  mind;  so  long  as  a  fellow  has 
plenty  of  beans  he  is  all  right.  I  wonder  how  near 
they  are  done?" 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  find  out  as  every  old 
miner  knows.  Mr.  Simpson  took  a  long  handled 
spoon  and  fishing  up  a  few  of  the  beans,  blew  vig- 
orously on  them.  As  the  skins  began  to  peel  off 
and  roll  back  a  smile  of  triumphant  gratification 
spread  over  his  face  and  he  got  a  fork  to  try  the 
bacon. 

Alas,  it  was  the  feather  which  broke  the  camel's 
back.  For  while  Simpson  was  snoozing,  the  cross 
stick  from  which  the  pot  of  beans  depended  was 
quietly  burning  away.  When  Simpson  reached  in 
his  hand  to  test  the  bacon,  its  weight  on  the  fork 
was  too  much  for  the  frail  support  and  in  another 
moment  the  bean  pot  stood  bottom  side  up  among 
the  embers. 


SIMPSON  S    THANKSGIVING  207 

To  yank  it  out  with  the  aid  of  the  fire  stick  was 
but  the  work  of  a  moment,  and  in  another  it  was 
rolling  down  the  hill  after  the  yeast  can.  Mr.  Simp- 
son apostrophised  the  departing  vessel  as  it 
bumped  against  the  rocks  and  it  made  him  cheerful 
again. 

"I've  got  to  go  to  town  for  dinner,  Jeff,"  said 
he,  soon  as  he  got  the  ashes  out  of  his  eyes.  "I  go 
right  past  your  place  and  we'll  go  together." 

But  Jeff  was  gone.  Though  he  had  no  news  to 
tell  Mr.  Simpson  he  had  plenty  to  tell  his  mother 
and  was  not  going  to  lose  any  time  telling  it.  So 
when  Simpson  got  to  the  door  and  looked,  the  re- 
treating form  of  Jeff  was  just  disappearing  around 
the  bend,  and  the  pleasant  tinkle  of  the  cow-bell 
told  that  boy  and  cow  were  making  good  time. 

Mr.  Simpson  divested  himself  of  his  soiled  ap- 
parel, donned  his  store  clothes,  and  was  soon  on  his 
way  to  fulfill  his  original  intention  of  eating  his 
Thanksgiving  dinner  at  the  Rabbit  Hill  Hotel.  As 
it  was  even  now  past  the  hour  when  hotel  guests 
dine  he  strode  onward  at  a  fearful  pace.  And,  as 
he  knew  that  the  story  of  his  misfortunes  had  ere 
this  reached  the  ears  of  the  charming  widow,  he 
jammed  his  hat  fiercely  down  over  his  eyes  and 
would  not  even  look  in  the  direction  of  the  cottage. 
But  he  was  not  fated  to  escape. 


208  SIMPSON'S  THANKSGIVING 

"Mithter  Thimpthon,"  piped  a  little  shrill  voice. 
It  was  that  of  the  widow's  little  daughter,  who  was 
"lying  in  wait"  for  him.  "Pleath,  thir,  mother 
thed  you  had  lotht  your  dinner  and  would  you 
come  and  have  dinner  with  her?" 

My  friend  Simpson  hesitated.  If  there  is  any- 
thing in  the  world  a  man  hates,  it  is  to  appear 
ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  his  soul's  affection.  That 
is,  until  he  has  got  her  secure.  For  it  occurs  to  me 
that  some  men  try  to  make  themselves  as  ridicu- 
lous as  possible  in  the  eyes  of  their  wives  and  gen- 
erally make  out  to.  But  I,  not  being  a  benedict, 
may  be  prejudiced  against  the  shortcomings  of 
those  of  my  sex  who  are  better  off  than  I.  How- 
ever, Simpson  knew  that  he  must  face  the  widow 
on  some  occasion,  or  leave  the  county,  so  he  de- 
termined to  brave  fate  and  marched  right  in. 

But  the  gentle  widow  did  not  seem  disposed  to 
twit  Jack  with  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  misfor- 
tunes he  had  met.  Maybe  that,  having  had  one  ex- 
perience with  the  animal,  Man,  she  knew  that  a 
hungry  one  was  not  of  the  kind  to  stand  joking. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  preparations  for  the  devo- 
tional meal  were  hurried  forward  and  the  family 
and  the  guest  were  soon  seated  around  the  hospit- 
able board. 

It  was  not  until  the  inner  man  (and  woman) 
was  satisfied  that  reserve  was  broken,  and  conver- 


SIMPSON  S    THANKSGIVING  209 

sation  took  a  free  range.  Then  she  told  Mr. 
Simpson  of  sundry  passages  in  the  bachelor  life  of 
the  late  lamented  Blythers,  which  he  had  told  her 
of  after  marriage  and  which  the  occurrences  of  the 
day  had  recalled  to  her  recollection.  The  narration 
of  these  little  incidents  had  a  tendency  to  put  Mr. 
Simpson  at  his  ease,  and  the  thought  came  into  his 
mind  that  if  the  lamented  Blythers  had  been  recom- 
pensed for  such  sufferings  by  the  love  of  the  angelic 
creature  who  sat  before  him,  why  should  not  he, 
too,  in  the  ever-changing  chapter  'of  events  be 
recompensed  in  a  similar  manner. 

"And  so  you  lost  your  yeast,"  screamed  the 
widow.  "An*  just  the  same  way  that  Blythers  lost 
his  first  batch  of  apple  sass;  only  'twas  a  wood  rat 
got  drowned  in  it.  But  he  learned  to  keep  things 
kivered  after  that." 

"So  do  I,  generally,  Mrs.  Blythers.  But  a  fel- 
low don't  always  think  of  such  things.  Now  a 
woman,  you  see,  always  remem " 

"Ma  said  it  serves  you  just  right,"  interrupted 
Jeff,  "she  said  if  a  man ,"  but  here  Jeff's  rev- 
elations ended,  for  a  vigorous  slap  of  the  widow's 
fair  hand  across  the  mouth  checked  the  flow  of 
Jeff's  words  and  sent  him  howling  to  the  wood- 
shed. 

"Well,  you  did,  ma,"  said  the  next,  undeterred 
by  Jeff's  fate,  "you  said  if  a  man  was  fool  enough 


2io  SIMPSON'S  THANKSGIVING 

to  keep  bach  when  he  ought  to  be  mar — mar — oh, 
ma;  o-u-c-h,  oh-h." 

Mrs.  Blythers,  however,  kept  up  a  vigorous  as- 
sault till  both  the  remaining  olive  branches  were 
in  the  woodshed  with  Jeff,  while  my  friend  Simp- 
son, with  a  palpitating  heart,  sat  blessing  the  "lit- 
tle pitchers"  whose  "big  ears"  had  enabled  them  to 
make  such  precious  revelations.  When  the  fair 
widow  returned  and  he  caught  sight  of  the  blush- 
ing face  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so 
beautiful.  "And  on  this  hint  he  spake."  Taking 
within  both  his  own  the  fair  hand  which  had 
slapped  Jeff's  mouth,  he  said,  in  soft,  low  tones : 

"Anastasia,  dearest,  if  I  may  call  you  so,  can  I 
believe  my  ears?  Do  you  commiserate  my  lonely 
condition  ?  And  will  you,  oh,  will  you  make  it  less 
so,  by  becoming  my  own  sweet  wife?" 

"Drat  them  young  ones,"  answered  the  widow, 
"I  s'pose  I'll  have  to  say  yes." 

Mr.  Simpson  and  his  amiable  lady  still  live  in 
the  charming  little  cottage  near  the  junction  of 
Nugget  Gulch  and  Whisky  Ravine.  He  took  an 
early  opportunity  of  telling  me  the  successful  issue 
of  his  courtship,  and  wound  up  by  saying  that  the 
loss  of  his  pot  of  beans  on  that  Thanksgiving  Day 
had  taught  him  to  exclaim  with  the  poet:  "Sweet 
are  the  uses  of  adversity." 


STUBBS'  WOOING 

Samantha  Jane  was  sweeping.  As  this  was  a 
portion  of  the  daily  routine  of  duties  devolving 
upon  that  lady,  it  may  seem  that  the  information 
is  uncalled  for  on  our  part.  Every  woman  is 
presumed  to  sweep  the  house  at  least  once  a  day, 
and  why  we  should  allude  to  it  at  all  may  seem 
superfluous. 

But  Samantha  Jane  was  sweeping.  Sweeping 
the  porch.  To  the  ordinary  observer  this  would 
indicate  that,  having  disposed  of  the  other  house- 
hold cares,  she  was  about  ready  to  sit  down  and 
read,  or  sew,  or  devote  herself  to  some  other  of 
the  lighter  occupations  of  femininity.  But  such  a 
conclusion,  although  it  might  be  one  which  would 
seem  warranted  by  the  facts  would  be  far  from 
correct.  A  peep  into  the  interior  of  old  man  Stig- 
ger's  presumably  happy  home,  would  show  the 
breakfast  dishes  unwashed,  the  beds  unmade,  and 
even  the  sweeping  itself  confined  to  the  exterior  of 
the  building. 

Let  us  then  enlighten  the  world  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  departure  of  Samantha  Jane  from  all  the 
ordinary  rules  of  housekeeping.  There  was  a  man 


212  STUBBS'    WOOING 

in  the  case,  of  course.  And  while  Samantha  Jane 
was  sweeping,  his  approaching  form  began  to  ap- 
pear through  the  fog.  For  this  was  New  Year's 
morning,  and  I  have  invariably  observed  that 
New  Year's  morning  is  foggy  in  a  dry  winter.  The 
coming  man  was  none  other  than  my  friend  and 
partner,  Mr.  Peter  Geiger,  called,  for  shortness,  I 
suppose,  "Old  Stubbs."  Not  that  he  was  either 
old  or  stubby,  but  he  was  called  that,  as  we  always 
thought,  on  the  principle  that  the  boys  called  an- 
other fellow  "deacon"  because  he  played  seven-up 
in  the  church  once  while  waiting  the  arrival  of  the 
preacher. 

Samantha  Jane  continued  to  sweep  the  porch, 
and  the  nearer  Mr.  Geiger  approached  the  more 
vigorously  she  plied  the  broom.  If  this  proceed- 
ing upon  her  part  was  intended  to  awaken  the  ad- 
miration of  Stubbs,  I  very  much  doubt  its  expedi- 
ency. The  broom,  for  some  purposes  and  the 
broomstick  for  others,  are  proverbially  woman's 
weapon,  and  a  thoughtful  man  seeing  the  nimble 
dexterity  with  which  she  handled  the  one,  might 
well  pause  and  consider  if  she  could  not,  if  occas- 
ion called  for  it  be  equally  dexterous  with  the 
other.  But  Mr.  Stubbs  was  not  a  thoughtful  man. 
He  reasoned  (when  he  reasoned  at  all) ,  from  anal- 
ogy alone.  Therefore  it  is  but  justice  to  my  old 
partner  to  say  that  when  his  eyes  rested  upon  the 


STUBBS     WOOING  213 

lithe,  active  form  of  the  maiden,  his  thoughts  dwelt 
only  in  the  present. 

Samantha  Jane  continued  to  sweep,  apparently 
oblivious  of  the  existence  of  anything  in  this  wide 
world  except  the  dust  she  was  driving  before  her. 
But  while  her  form  moved  in  sympathy  with  the 
motion  of  the  broomstick,  a  close  observer  could 
have  noted  that  her  eyes  were  cast  furtively  upon 
the  masculine  specimen  which  drew  nearer  and 
nearer.  As  for  my  friend  Geiger,  or  Stubbs,  if  you 
choose  to  call  him,  although  he  had  not  expected 
this  happy  meeting,  he  was  not  unprepared  for  it. 
So  when  he  reached  that  point  in  the  path  nearest 
to  the  domicile  of  the  venerable  Stigger,  he 
paused  and  saluted. 

"'MorninV 

Samantha  Jane  quit  sweeping  with  a  start  and  a 
little  feminine  yell.  What  deceivers  women  are. 
She  knew  this  was  Stubbs'  ordinary  mode  of  giv- 
ing the  morning  salutation.  But  it  did  not  suit  her 
purpose  to  seem  to  be  expecting  anything,  hence 
the  start  and  the  yell  alluded  to  above. 

"Lawk,  Mr.  Geiger,  how  you  frightened  me!" 

"It's  enough  to  skeer  any  good  looking  creeture, 
I  expect,"  assented  Geiger.  "But  now  youVe  got 
over  it,  how  are  you?" 

"Nicely,  Mr.  Geiger,  won't  you  drop  in  and  see 
the  folks?" 


214  STUBBS     WOOING 

"I  see  'em  all  I  care  about  seein'  just  now,"  gal- 
lantly replied  Stubbs.  "Fact  is,  I'm  in  suthin'  of  a 
hurry.  The  boys  are  layin'  off  today,  bein'  its 
New  Year,  and  I  was  just  goin'  to  the  burg  to  get 
some  little  traps  to  help  'em  out." 

"I  s'pose  you'll  be  at  the  party,  tonight?"  ques- 
tioned Samantha  Jane. 

"What,  is  there  to  be  a  party?  This  is  the  first 
I've  hearn  of  it." 

"Why,  do  tell  now!  And  you  hadn't  heard. 
Why  it's  this  way,  you  see.  Mrs.  Willet's  cousin, 
what  came  here  last  week,  said  it  was  a  shame  that 
a  New  Year's  should  pass  and  no  doin's.  And  so 
they're  goin'  to  have  a  time  at  the  hall." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Stubbs.  "You'll 
be  thar,  of  course?" 

"Wall,  I  don't  know.    Mebbe  so." 

What  could  Mr.  Geiger  do  ?  What  would  you 
do  my  young  masculine  friend,  if  a  buxom,  bloom- 
ing Missouri  girl  made  a  similar  revelation  to  you  ? 
Mr.  Geiger  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance.  He 
saw  that  he  was  in  for  it,  and  if  I  must  tell  the 
truth,  I  think  he  was  glad  of  it.  So  he  did  the  only 
thing  possible  for  a  young  man  in  his  situation  to 
do  gracefully,  and  asked  permission  to  escort  Sa- 
mantha Jane  to  the  party,  then  and  there.  And 
right  then  and  there  Samantha  Jane  accepted  the 
invitation. 


STUBBS'    WOOING  215 

Having  accomplished  this  little  piece  of  business 
to  their  mutual  satisfaction,  Mr.  Peter  Geiger  con- 
tinued on  his  journey  toward  the  "burg,"  while 
Samantha  Jane  resumed  sweeping.  It  struck  me  as 
a  little  odd  that  although  more  than  half  of  the 
porch  was  yet  unswept  at  the  time  of  Peter's  de- 
parture, the  young  lady  finished  it  up  in  about  one- 
tenth  part  of  the  time  it  had  taken  her  to  do  the 
other,  and  hurried  shivering  into  the  house.  From 
which  I  infer  that  the  whole  movement  was  a  piece 
of  strategy  upon  the  part  of  the  guileless  maiden. 

The  "hall"  of  which  Samantha  Jane  had  made 
mention  in  the  interesting  dialogue  we  have  so 
truthfully  reported,  had  originally  been  a  whisky 
saloon,  but  the  proprietor  thereof,  after  trouble 
with  some  of  his  customers  in  regard  to  the  pay- 
ment for  certain  drinks  (which  ended  in  his  being 
knocked  down  with  one  of  his  own  bottles),  be- 
came a  staunch  temperance  man,  and  instead  of 
selling  out  the  business,  left  the  flourishing  burg  of 
Breakneck  Point  in  disgust.  It  had  thereupon  been 
taken  possession  of  and  was  used  for  public  pur- 
poses generally,  from  a  traveling  minstrel  show  up. 
Here,  when  the  blushing  and  blooming  Samantha 
Jane  arrived  under  the  escort  of  my  stalwart  friend 
Stubbs,  there  were  gathered  all  the  young  ladies 
and  little  girls  from  miles  around,  and  we  may  as 
well  tell  it  all,  the  old  women  also.  Now  we  are 


2l6  STUBBS*    WOOING 

not  going  to  write  a  homily  on  old  women  dancing, 
in  forget  fulness  of  the  maxims  of  church  discipline, 
impressed  upon  their  minds  in  another  country. 
We  believe  it  a  sort  of  duty  which  all  hands  owe  to 
society,  to  turn  out  on  such  occasions  as  this,  and 
contribute  their  mite  to  the  general  comfort  and 
happiness  of  the  community.  Verbum  sap. 

Therefore,  we  must  not  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  old  man  Stigger  and  his  estimable  lady  soon 
followed  Stubbs  and  Samantha  Jane,  having  very 
discreetly  dropped  behind  after  starting,  which  ac- 
tion on  their  part  we  submit  is  worthy  of  all  praise. 
We  know  of  more  than  one  lady  of  a  certain  age, 
past  the  barriers  of  girlhood,  who  might  have  been 
happily  married  years  ago,  if  the  old  folks  had  only 
sense  enough  to  keep  out  of  the  way.  Our  experi- 
ence is  that  it  is  all  well  enough  to  have  the  good- 
will of  the  old  folks  to  start  in  with,  but  when  it 
comes  to  substantial  sparking,  third  parties  are  to 
be  kept  away. 

The  orchestra  consisted  of  two  fiddles  and  a 
banjo,  and  three  babies.  "Fancy"  dances  were 
few  and  far  between,  for  as  yet  the  teachers  of  "the 
poetry  of  motion"  had  not  reached  that  point,  and 
as  a  natural  consequence  the  only  dances  which  the 
guests  dare  essay,  were  the  old-fashioned  ones  they 
had  learned  in  "the  States."  And  good  dances 
they  were,  too,  if  we  do  say  it.  We  wish  they 


STUBBS'    WOOING  2 17 

would  revive  them  now,  in  place  of  some  we 
wot  of.  My  friend  Stubbs  was  in  his  element. 
Holding  the  fair  hand  of  Samantha  Jane  within 
his  own,  together  they  threaded  the  mazes  of  the 
Money  Musk,  or  met  and  parted  in  the  indescrib- 
able chain  of  the  Haymaker.  At  the  conclusion  of 
the  latter  the  fate  of  Mr.  Geiger  was  sealed.  A 
girl  who  could  handle  both  hands  and  feet  so  ca- 
pably as  Samantha  Jane  had  shown  her  ability  to 
do,  was  the  girl  to  share  his  heart  and  cabin  on 
Scorpion  Bar.  And  with  that  energy  which  char- 
acterized all  his  actions  he  determined  to  seal  the 
bargain  that  very  night. 

The  dance  came  to  an  end  after  a  while,  as 
everything  in  this  world,  and  the  world  itself  must, 
if  we  are  to  believe  what  is  told  us.  And  as  every- 
thing dies,  and  passes  away  it  is  only  reasonable  to 
conclude  that  the  world  must  share  the  universal 
fate  of  all  animated  nature,  when  it  has  filled  its 
appointed  purpose,  so  we  will  not  attack  the  phil- 
osophy of  sages  and  revelation  on  that  point.  But 
let  it  not  be  understood  that  the  dance  at  Break- 
neck Point  ceased  at  what  would  be  termed  fash- 
ionable hours.  It  was  not  until  after  "sun-up"  that 
the  last  dulcet  strains  of  the  fiddles  were  heard  and 
the  revelers  took  their  ways  homeward.  In  those! 
golden  days  people  who  went  to  a  dance  went  there 
to  dance,  and  dance  they  did.  And  it  is  a  pleasant 


2l8  STUBBS'    WOOING 

fact  for  me  to  chronicle  that  old  Stigger,  with  that 
wise  discretion  we  have  heretofore  had  occasion  to 
commend,  departed  with  his  better  half  and  the 
olive  branches  a  full  half  hour  before  Samantha 
Jane  and  her  admiring  partner  could  tear  them- 
selves from  the  festive  scene. 

It  was  before  the  days  of  wagon  roads  and  the 
narrow  trail  along  the  hill  side  left  them  but  little 
opportunity  to  walk  side  by  side.  This  was  annoy- 
ing, as  all  our  readers  who  have  been  married  or  in 
love  will  readily  admit,  but  as  we  before  remarked 
it  is  only  within  our  province  to  deal  with  facts. 
Stubbs  felt  that  the  wished-for  opportunity  would 
soon  be  gone,  and  though  he  had  felt  full  of  cour- 
age when  he  formed  the  resolution  of  knowing  his 
fate,  as  the  decisive  moments  were  passing  he  felt 
his  courage  vanish,  notwithstanding  he  had  taken 
a  couple  of  good  snifters  of  whisky  to  loosen  his 
tongue.  It  was  not  until  they  were  descending  to 
Sucker  Flat  and  the  domicile  of  old  Stigger,  with 
the  smoke  curling  upward  in  gay  festoons  through 
the  crisp  January  air,  appeared  in  sight,  impres- 
sing the  mind  with  a  sense  of  the  domestic  happi- 
ness which  was  to  be  found  therein,  that  he  found 
courage  to  declare  his  love.  And  perhaps  he  would 
not  then  had  it  not  been  for  Samantha  Jane. 


STUBBS'    WOOING 


"You'll  stop  till  arter  breakfast,  Mr.  Geiger, 
will  you  not?  A  cup  of  coffee  will  do  you  good. 
I'll  make  one  in  no  time." 

Then  his  pent-up  feelings  found  vent,  Fanny 
Fern,  or  some  other  woman  cynic  has  put  it  on 
paper  that  the  way  to  a  man's  heart  is  through  his 
stomach.  Thus  it  was  with  my  valued  partner. 

"Stop,"  he  repeated,  "of  course  I'll  stop.  But, 
oh,  Samantha,  dearest,  let  it  not  be  the  only  cup  of 
coffee  you  make  for  me.  Make  coffee  for  me  so 
long  as  we  both  do  live." 

"Lawk,  Mr.  Geiger,  how  you  surprise  me.  This 
is  so  unexpected " 

"Never  mind,  I  mean  it  as  much  as  if  we'd  bin 
courtin'  a  coon's  age.  Here  I  stop,  and  I  won't  go 
a  step  farther  till  you  promise  to  be  my  own." 

"Come  along  then,  Peter.  You'd  freeze  to 
death  if  you  stayed  here  long  this  morning,  and  I 
don't  want  your  death  on  my  conscience." 

The  loving  pair  linked  arms  and  moved  toward 
the  house  till  a  big  manzanita  bush  hid  them  from 
view.  Here  they  stopped  and  Stubbs  ratified  the 
contract  upon  her  ruby  lips.  He  must  have  been 
very  much  in  earnest,  for  old  Stigger,  who  was 
picking  up  chips  to  replenish  the  fire,  went  in  and 
told  his  wife  that  the  weather  must  be  moderating 
as  he  could  hear  the  ice  down  in  the  bend  cracking 
and  breaking  up. 


22O  STUBBS'    WOOING 

Having  then  detailed  the  wooing  of  the  gallant 
Stubbs  my  mission  as  a  chronicler  would  seem  to  be 
ended.  But  that  reverence  for  truth  which  has 
guided  my  pen  thus  far  impels  me  to  add  yet  a  few 
words.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Geiger  after  marriage  es- 
tablished their  home  near  the  claim,  and  the  uni- 
form friendship  which  had  existed  between  us  dur- 
ing Peter's  years  of  bachelor  life,  when  we  cabined 
together  and  took  "week  about"  with  the  cooking, 
was  not  weakened  by  the  new  relation  he  had  as- 
sumed. But  when  I  look  upon  the  half  dozen  or 
more  of  tow-headed  young  ones  that  Pete  has  to 
feed,  clothe  and  keep  shod  on  three  dollars  a  day 
with  work  only  for  part  of  the  season,  I  rather  feel 
glad  that  it  was  he  and  not  I  that  found  Samantha 
Jane  sweeping  on  that  memorable  New  Year's 
morning. 


THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

Mr.  Swipes  hastened  through  the  rain  until  he 
reached  his  cabin  on  Gouge-Eye  Point.  Naturally, 
one  would  not  think  an  old,  shell-back  miner  like 
Swipes,  who  had  stood  the  storms  of  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  would  care  for  a  little  rain,  that  being,  as 
the  old  women  used  to  say,  neither  sugar  nor  salt, 
he  could  stand  the  storm  of  any  winter,  and  wel- 
come it  as  a  guarantee  of  that  desideratum  of  every 
mining  community — a  wet  winter,  and  plenty  of 
water.  It  may  be,  however,  that  it  was  because  he 
had  stood  the  storms  of  so  many  winters  in  the  past, 
that  the  amiable  Mr.  Swipes  felt  himself  admon- 
ished to  keep  a  keen  lookout  for  his  own  health 
in  the  future.  At  any  rate,  having  gone  into  the 
diggings  in  the  morning  under  a  cloudless  sky,  he, 
having  omitted  the  precaution  of  taking  with 
him  a  gum  coat,  was  caught  by  the  storm  at  a 
great  disadvantage.  And,  like  the  prudent  man 
he  was,  he  "streaked  it"  for  home. 

Of  course  he  reached  there  without  any  mishap, 
for  it  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  darted  home 
"between  drops."  A  glance  at  the  sky  told  him 
that  the  storm  was  probably  good  for  the  rest  of  the 


222        THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

day,  and  as  matters  were  not  pressing  in  the  claim, 
he  prepared  to  make  himself  comfortable.  From 
his  store  of  pitchwood  a  few  splinters  were  selected, 
the  dry  pine  kindling  put  over  them,  and  drawing 
a  match  from  the  bunch  he  struck  it  to  kindle  a 
fire.  But,  as  he  bent  down  in  pursuit  of  this  laud- 
able purpose,  the  water  which  had  collected  on  his 
hat-brim  poured  off  in  a  little  stream  and  extin- 
guished it.  It  was  a  little  thing,  but  life  is  some- 
times made  up  of  trifles.  Mr.  Swipes  swore — 
actually  swore  over  this  little  mishap.  Having 
thus  relieved  his  feelings,  he  essayed  to  strike  an- 
other match,  but  found  to  his  discomfiture  that  the 
bunch  had  collected  dampness  and  the  heads 
scraped  off  in  a  manner  peculiarly  aggravating  to  a 
chilly  man.  At  each  successive  failure,  Mr.  Swipes 
swore  again,  but  it  did  no  good,  and  the  prospect  of 
a  cheerful  fire  to  dispel  the  dampness  of  his  cabin 
seemed  very  slim  indeed. 

uThis  comes  of  baching  it,"  growled  Mr. 
Swipes.  "If  I  had  a  woman  to  keep  house  for  me 
I  wouldn't  be  shivering  this  way,  now.  Doggone  it, 
why  ain't  I  married?" 

Mr.  Swipes  scratched  his  head  as  he  propounded 
this  conundrum  to  himself,  but  failed  to  elicit  any 
response.  Then  he  began  exploring  his  pockets  in 
the  hope  of  finding  a  stub,  but  was  equally  unsuc- 
cessful. It  was  rather  a  discouraging  thought  that 


THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR  223 

he  would  have  to  go  a  half  mile  to  the  nearest 
neighbors  to  get  matches  to  kindle  his  fire,  but  there 
was  no  getting  over  it  and  grabbing  the  hat  which 
had  caused  the  mishap,  he  was  about  to  open  the 
door  when  there  was  a  light  tap  on  it.  Now,  it  was 
not  usual  for  any  of  Mr.  Swipes'  visitors  to  an- 
nounce their  presence  in  this  manner.  Generally, 
the  door  opened  and  they  came  bulging  in,  or  if 
they  knocked  at  all,  it  was  in  a  manner  which  gave 
unmistakable  evidence  of  somebody's  presence. 
This  light  tap  discomposed  Swipes  more  than  a 
salvo  of  artillery  would  have  done,  and  he  hesitated 
before  opening  the  door.  And  well  he  might. 

For  there,  upon  the  threshold  stood  three  speci- 
men's of  "God's  last,  best  gift  to  man."  That  they 
were  not  able  to  stand  the  storm  like  young  ducks 
was  evidenced  by  their  forlorn  appearance,  and  the 
haste  with  which  they  bolted  into  the  cabin  at  Mr. 
Swipes'  invitation  was  ample  proof. 

"How  glad  we  were  to  see  you  come  home,  Mr. 
Swipes.  We  were  under  the  big  pine,  but  you  see 
we  couldn't  keep  dry.  Why  in  the  world  don't 
you  start  your  fire,  now  you've  got  everything  all 
ready  ?  Don't  you  see  we  are  almost  froze  ?" 

He  did  see  it.  But  that  did  not  help  matters  a 
bit  and  he  was  forced  to  the  humiliating  confession 
that  there  was  not  a  match  in  the  house. 


224        THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

"Then  Jane  shall  give  you  one.  She  had  some 
awhile  ago.  Don't  pretend  to  deny  it,  now,  you 
do  smoke  and  you  know  it." 

Whether  Jane,  whom  Mr.  Swipes  had  not  before 
seen,  she  being  a  recent  arrival  in  the  place,  in- 
tended to  deny  the  fact,  or  not,  we  are  not  pre- 
pared to  say,  but  after  several  preliminary  motions, 
she  began  to  search  the  pocket  of  her  dress.  From 
thence  she  drew  forth  a  ball  of  blue  yarn,  a  knife, 
a  bunch  of  keys,  several  newspaper  clippings  of 
poetry,  which  she  read  carefully,  then  a  few 
matches,  wrapped  in  a  bit  of  paper.  Swipes  took 
one  of  these  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  cheerful 
blaze  was  rolling  up  the  chimney,  and  the  moist 
quartette  gathering  around  it  forgot  the  storm 
which  was  raging  without. 

"How  came  you  women  folks  to  be  caught  out 
in  this  way?"  asked  Mr.  Swipes,  when  he  had  got 
sufficiently  warmed  up  for  conversation. 

"Well,  you  see  Jane  here, — my  aunt,  Mr. 
Swipes," — (Swipes  bowed  profoundly)  "had 
never  seen  a  hydraulic  playing,  and  the  morning 
looked  so  fine  that  we  thought  we  would  just  walk 
up  to  the  bar  above.  We  didn't  dream  of  a  storm 
and  never  thought  of  taking  umbrellas." 

Mr.  Swipes  was  entirely  satisfied  with  that  ex- 
planation. In  fact,  that  gentleman  was  lapsing  into 


THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR  225 

a  state  of  mind  in  which  he  would  be  satisfied  with 
anything. 

Albeit  rain  is  a  most  necessary  adjunct  to  the 
prosperity  of  this  glorious  golden  State,  let  the 
storms  come  when  they  may,  there  are  some  who 
will  wish  they  had  held  off  a  little  while  longer. 
Not  so  with  Mr.  Swipes,  who  was  delighted  with 
his  accession  of  company  which  the  unlooked-for 
deluge  had  brought  to  his  lonely  cabin,  but  so  it 
was  with  his  visitors.  For  when,  under  the  genial 
warmth  of  the  fire  they  had  got  warm  and  dry 
again,  came  the  wish  that  the  rain  would  quit  and 
let  them  go  home.  And  numerous  were  the  trips 
which  were  made  from  the  fireplace  to  the  window 
to  note  the  appearance  of  the  sky,  or  to  see  if 
some  one  was  not  on  the  road  with  umbrellas,  to 
hunt  them  up  and  bring  them  home.  But  the  hu- 
miliating truth  must  be  told  that  old  Bender,  the 
only  one  who  knew  where  they  had  gone,  was  so 
deeply  interested  in  a  little  game  of  draw  poker, 
that  he  quite  forgot,  not  only  that  Mrs.  Bender 
had  gone  up  to  the  bar  that  morning,  but  was  quite 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  a  wife  at  all.  But 
old  Bender's  weakness  for  draw  poker  and  such 
kindred  amusements  was  one  which  was  shared  by 
other  benedicts  of  the  burg,  so  he  was  not  at  all 
singular  in  his  habits. 


226        THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

The  hands  of  the  clock  began  to  indicate  the  near 
approach  of  that  time  of  day  when  custom  and 
nature  require  humanity  to  partake  of  the  noontide 
meal,  and  Mr.  Swipes,  whose  appetite  was  sharp- 
ened by  an  early  and  light  breakfast,  was  at  his 
wit's  end  to  know  on  what  to  feed  his  unexpected 
guests.  Now,  if  he  had  been  given  due  notice  of 
their  coming,  he  could  have  prepared  a  meal  fit  for 
a  king,  but  we  have  to  concede  that  he  was  taken  at 
a  great  disadvantage.  An  inspection  of  his  larder 
showed  the  heel  of  a  loaf,  a  small  remnant  of  the 
boiled  beef  of  the  day  before,  and  the  remains  of  a 
pot  of  beans,  ample,  indeed,  for  the  frugal  meal 
which  would  have  appeased  Mr.  Swipes,  but  only  a 
taste  for  four.  Added  to  this  was  the  discouraging 
fact  that  he  had  but  two  plates  and  paraphernalia 
to  match,  one  for  himself  and  one  for  those  State 
occasions  when  "Slim  Jim,"  or  some  other  of  his 
husky  cronies  dropped  in  to  have  a  square  meal  with 
him.  And  as  these  plates,  etc.,  had  not  been  in 
the  dishpan  since  Slim  Jim's  visit  the  day  before, 
(Mr.  Swipes  having  washed  his  own  plate  suffi- 
ciently by  the  simple  but  ingenious  process  of  turn- 
ing itbottom  side  up),  the  difficulties  of  the  situation 
will  be  seen  at  once. 

But  Swipes  arose  with  the  occasion.  The  dish- 
water was  heated,  poured  into  a  pan  and,  armed 
with  half  a  flour  sack  fastened  with  a  nail  to  the 


"I  wish  I  had  such  a  housekeeper  for  every  day,"  said  Mr. 
Swipes,   gallantly.      (See   page   227.) 


THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR  2 27 

end  of  a  stick,  Swipes  had  those  dishes  washed  in 
no  time,  before  his  guests  knew  what  he  was  doing. 
But  when,  this  task  completed,  he  rubbed  the  inside 
of  his  dutch  oven  with  a  bacon  rind  and,  pouring 
some  flour  into  a  pan  reached  for  the  box  of  yeast 
powder,  their  woman  nature  would  permit  them  to 
remain  silent  no  longer.  So  Mrs.  Bender  asked 
him  what  he  was  going  to  do. 

"Why,  get  you  folk  some  dinner,  of  course." 

"Not  much,  you  ain't,  Swipsey."  (This  was 
Mrs.  Bender's  familiar  way.)  "It's  a  shame  you 
haven't  got  a  wife  to  do  all  these  things  for  you, 
but  as  you  haven't  we'll  be  your  housekeepers  for 
today."  And  before  Swipes  fairly  knew  it,  she  had 
the  pan  from  him  and  with  sleeves  tucked  up  (a 
form  of  procedure  Mr.  Swipes  had  never  thought 
of) ,  was  stirring  up  the  flour. 

"I  wish  I  had  such  a  housekeeper  for  every  day," 
said  Mr.  Swipes,  gallantly. 

"It's  your  fault  that  you  haven't,"  retorted  that 
lady.  "Why  don't  you  get  married,  as  every  man 
ought  to,  instead  of  moping  thro'  life  like  a  great 
dunce — as  you  are?" 

It  is  a  coincidence  which  will  be  remarked,  that 
this  was  the  identical  question  Swipes  had  pro- 
pounded to  himself  just  before  the  ladies  made 
their  appearance.  But  there  was  this  difference: 
That  Swipes,  talking  to  Swipes,  could  leave 


228         THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

Swipes'  question  unanswered,  but  when  it  was 
asked  by  a  female,  there  must  be  a  reply  forth- 
coming. So  he  answered  very  promptly:  "Be- 
cause no  one  would  have  me,  Mrs.  Bender." 

Mrs.  Bender  only  responded,  "Git,"  and  went  on 
with  the  kneading. 

"Git?"  retorted  Swipes,  indignantly.  "Now  it's 
so.  D'ye  s'pose  I'd  stay  single  long,  if  I  thought  a 
right  good  woman  would  say  the  right  word  ?  I've 
kinder  waited  through  Leap  Year,  to  see  if  some 
one  of  'em  wouldn't  shin  up  to  me,  but  it's  near 
gone  now,  and  nary  one  has  'cheeped.'  ' 

"Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Bender,  solemnly;  "did  you 
hear  that?" 

"Hear  what?"  asked  Jane,  who,  by  the  way  had 
not  lost  a  word  which  had  been  said. 

"Why,  this  man  says  he's  waited  until  Leap 
Year's  nigh  gone  in  the  hope  some  one  would  ask 
him  to  marry.  You  ask  him  and  see  what  he  will 
say  to  it." 

Jane  simpered,  the  younger  specimen  of  femi- 
ninity giggled  outright,  and  Swipes  blushed  to  be- 
hind the  ears.  This  put  a  damper  on  the  conver- 
sation, for  Mr.  Swipes'  thoughts  being  turned 
matrimonially  again,  he  felt  disposed  to  brood  over 
his  sorrows,  while  the  women  folk,  having  taken  the 
matter  in  hand,  were  getting  up  such  a  dinner  as 


THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR  229 

the  little  cabin  on  Gouge-Eye  Point  had  never  seen 
before. 

The  grateful  scent  of  the  viands  reached  the  ol- 
factory nerves  of  Swipes,  and  he  took  a  mental  in- 
ventory of  the  charms  of  Aunt  Jane,  who  was 
warming  up  the  remnants  of  the  beef  and  beans 
in  a  most  appetizing  manner.  Swipes  was  entirely 
satisfied;  what  if  she  did  smoke,  it  was  only  an 
additional  reason  why  she  should  be  his  own. 
"Here  we  could  sit,"  said  that  worthy  to  himself, 
"she  there  and  me  here  and  I'd  never  be  out  of 
tobacker,  for  I  could  borry  from  her  when  mine 
was  gone.  Wish  she  would  ask  me;  doggoned  if 
I  don't."  And  Mr.  Swipes  at  once  erected  an  air 
castle  to  take  the  place  of  his  two-roomed  cabin, 
installed  Jane  as  the  mistress  of  it,  and  was  only 
called  from  the  contemplation  of  his  vision  of  bliss 
by  the  matter-of-fact  announcement  that  dinner  was 
ready. 

As  we  have  before  stated  that  the  Swipes  dres- 
ser contained  but  two  plates,  the  question  of  prece- 
dence became  quite  a  serious  one.  It  was  finally 
settled  that  Swipes  and  Aunt  Jane  should  wait, 
that  amiable  lady  having  imparted  the  information 
to  them  that  "the  smell  of  the  wittles  when  cook- 
ing allus  took  away  her  appetite,"  and  Swipes  hav- 
ing, of  course,  too  much  of  the  gentleman  about 
him  to  sit  at  the  first  table  and  let  ladies  wait.  This 


230        THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

question  being  settled  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all 
concerned,  dinner  was  eaten  in  the  order  we  have 
intimated,  and  Swipes  and  Aunt  Jane  had  nearly 
finished  theirs,  when  the  door  opened  without  the 
formality  of  a  knock  and  old  Bender  walked  in. 

To  explain  the  sudden  appearance  of  this  esti- 
mable gentleman,  we  will  state  that  he  had  been 
having  excellent  luck  at  the  game  and  had  gathered 
in  nearly  all  the  ready  cash  of  the  other  fellows. 
Then,  finding  there  was  a  disposition  on  their  part 
to  continue  the  game  and  "owe"  him  the  amount  of 
their  losses,  he  suddenly  remembered  that  his  wife 
had  gone  away  in  the  morning  and  had  not  re- 
turned. This  thought  produced  such  an  effect  upon 
his  sensitive  mind  that  he  immediately  pocketed 
his  winnings  and  "jumped"  the  game,  much  to  the 
disgust  of  the  "busted"  ones,  who  thus  saw  their 
chances  to  "get  even"  vanish  with  his  departing 
form.  But  old  Bender  was  right.  If  I  had  the 
little  dabs  which  fellows  owe  me  in  that  way,  I'd 
go  to  Washington  and  start  a  "Freedman's 
Bank." 

"Now,  yer  a  nice  couple,"  said  Bender,  surveying 
the  pair.  "What  a  pity  it  is  that  yer  couldn't  allus 
be  that  way." 

"So  I  say,"  responded  Swipes.  "You  can't  bluff 
me  out  in  that  way.  This  jest  suits." 


THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR  23! 

Aunt  Jane  said  nothing.  She  looked  once  as 
though  about  to  speak,  but  changed  her  mind  and 
stopped  a  sigh  with  a  big  spoonful  of  beans. 

Mr.  Bender  indulged  in  other  remarks  of  an 
equally  facetious  nature,  during  which  the  couple 
made  a  pretty  clean  sweep  of  what  was  left.  And, 
as  if  to  add  to  the  jollity  of  the  party,  when  they 
had  finished  dinner  the  storm  ceased,  the  sun  shone 
out  brightly  and  all  hands  (including  Mr.  Swipes) 
sallied  out  to  take  advantage  of  the  clearing  off,  in 
such  haste  that  they  nearly  forgot  the  umbrellas  the 
prudent  Mr.  Bender  had  brought  with  him. 

Let  me  record  it  here,  as  an  instance  of  the  sin- 
fulness  of  woman's  nature,  that  Mrs.  Bender  so 
arranged  it  that  Swipes  and  Aunt  Jane  walked  to- 
gether, behind.  I  don't  say,  mind  you,  that  this 
was  disagreeable  to  either  of  them — I  merely  men- 
tion it  by  way  of  illustration.  Women  like  to  fix  up 
these  little  matters  between  their  friends,  and  I,  for 
one,  don't  feel  disposed  to  quarrel  with  them  about 
doing  it. 

But  to  continue  the  thread  of  this  eventful  his- 
tory. Swipes  and  Aunt  Jane  walked  sturdily  along 
and  our  hero  essayed  to  call  up  the  fund  of  "small 
talk"  which  he  had  been  wont  to  use  in  days  of 
yore  and  which  is  supposed  to  be  so  agreeable  to 
the  ears  of  the  fair  sex.  The  conversation  never 
flagged  until  the  journey  was  nearly  ended  and  the 


232        THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

Bender  mansion  appeared  in  view  when  Swipes 
became  silent  and  lost  in  thought.  Aunt  Jane  felt, 
intuitively,  that  the  unexpected  might  happen  at 
any  moment. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Swipes,  rousing  himself 
with  an  effort,  "about  it  being  Leap  Year.  Do 
you  suppose  the  ladies  ever  do?" 

"Ever  do  what?" 

"Why,  you  know.    Pop  the  question.    Propose." 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  said  Aunt  Jane, 
bridling.  "I  know  this,  though:  If  there's  any 
proposing  that  I  am  concerned  in,  it  won't  be  me 
that'll  do  it." 

"Oh,  certainly;  of  course  not,  though  I  wouldn't 
mind  it  if  you  did.  But  I  was  thinking,  as  we  came 
along,  how  tough  it  is  on  a  feller  when  he  puts  on 
a  pot  of  beans  to  cook  and  maybe  has  to  set  up  and 
watch  'em,  when  he's  awful  tired,  cos,  you  know, 
if  they  burnt  it  would  all  be  for  nothing." 

"I  don't  know  nothing  about  your  nasty  beans," 
said  Jane. 

"No,  dear,  you  don't;  but  I  wish  you  would. 
When  I  say  beans,  it  means  everything;  salt  to 
season  'em,  bacon  to  give  'em  a  right  flavor;  butter 
to  make  'em  rich,  with  bread  and  sich  things  as  a 
relish. — I've  got  the  best  claim  on  Greaser  Flat, 
but  I  ain't  happy  a  bit;  I  want  it  to  benefit  some  one 


THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR  233 

besides  me,  who  will  cook  the  beans  I  eat.  Jane, 
will  you  do  it?" 

"No,  I  won't;  at  least  I  won't  do  it  now,  Mr. 
Swipes.  If  you  are  in  earnest,  I  may  consider  what 
you  have  said,  but  I  tell  you  flat  I  wouldn't  agree  to 
cook  beans  all  my  life  for  the  best  man  that  ever 
lived,  the  first  day  I  saw  him.  There,  now." 

Mr.  Swipes  hung  his  diminished  head  and  they 
walked  on  in  gloomy  silence.  But  soon  after,  from 
the  frequency  of  his  visits  to  the  Bender's  domicile, 
it  was  whispered  among  the  boys  that  Swipes  was 
"dead  stuck"  on  Mrs.  Bender's  aunt,  who,  albeit, 
a  "maiden  lady  of  uncertain  age,"  was  really  not 
much  older  than  her  buxom  niece.  And  when,  one 
Sunday  afternoon,  Swipes  came  into  Jake  Ferry's 
"Resort,"  and  with  a  grin  on  his  face  a  yard  long, 
asked  all  hands  to  "take  su'thin,"  we  knew  that  he 
had  reached  the  pinnacle  of  human  bliss. 

As  everybody  knows,  or  ought  to  know,  how  a 
wedding  is  conducted,  it  will  hardly  be  necessary 
for  me  to  give  an  elaborate  description  of  the  cere- 
mony, and  as  to  describing  the  trousseau  of  the 
bride  or  the  toilettes  of  the  ladies,  I  simply  can- 
not do  it.  Slim  Jim  acted  as  the  groom's  best  man 
and  to  this  day  goes  down  to  Gouge-Eye  Point,  as 
in  the  bachelor  days  of  his  friend  Swipes,  when  he 
gets  hungry  for  a  "square  meal,"  or  feels  inclined 
to  be  sociable,  for  Aunt  Jane  proved  to  be  a  good 


234        THE  END  OF  LEAP  YEAR 

soul  and  took  to  Swipes'  old  cronies  kindly.  But, 
as  in  my  last  chronicle,  there  was  no  mention  of 
children  and  some  growling  about  it,  I  shall  briefly 
mention  that  Swipes  points  proudly  to  no  less  than 
five,  including,  of  course,  the  twins.  If  that  doesn't 
satisfy  the  most  punctilious  stickler  for  details,  I 
don't  know  what  will. 


MRS.  CRUMPEY'S   BOARDERS 

CHAPTER  I. 

"Mr.  Crumpey,  I  want  a  cook." 

Mr.  Crumpey  removed  the  pipe  from  his  lips 
and  stared  at  his  wife  in  open-mouthed  astonish- 
ment. And  no  wonder.  It  was  the  first  time  since 
the  Crumpeys  had  joined  hearts  and  hands  that  his 
amiable  lady  had  made  her  wishes  known  in  a  man- 
ner so  emphatic.  "I  mean  what  I  say,  Mr.  Crum- 
pey," continued  the  lady,  when  she  saw  her  spouse 
opposed  only  the  vis  inertia  to  the  onslaught  of 
words  she  was  prepared  to  throw  at  him.  *  I 
mean  what  I  say,  I  want  a  cook." 

Mr.  Crumpey  restored  the  pipe  and  took  two  or 
three  whiffs  before  he  became  composed  enough  to 
speak.  Then  he  removed  it  again,  and  helplessly 
asked,  " Where  in  the  world,  Ann,  can  we  get  a 
cook?" 

"That's  for  you  to  find  out,  and  find  out  soon, 
too,  I  can  tell  you.  It's  nothing  but  cook  and  wash 
dishes,  cook  and  wash  dishes,  COOK  AND  WASH 
DISHES  from  morning  till  night,  with  you  lazing 


236  MRS.  CRUMPEY' s  BOARDERS 

around  smoking  that  stinking  old  pipe  among  the 
men.  And  I  won't  stand  it  any  longer." 

It  was  quite  evident  to  me,  who  was  an  unseen 
listener  to  this  matrimonial  jar,  that  our  usually 
meek  landlady  was  terribly  in  earnest.  And  evi- 
dently Mr.  Crumpey  thought  so,  too. 

"Well,  Ann,  never  mind,  that's  a  dear.  I'll 
write  down  to  the  city  and  see  if  we  can  get  a  girl 
to  come  here,  an'  while  we're  waiting  I'll  help  you 
the  best  I  can." 

I  venture  to  say  that  if  Mr.  Crumpey  could  have 
foreseen  what  a  scornful  upturn  of  the  nose  his  bet- 
ter half  in  the  future  would  be  able  to  make,  she 
would  never  have  been  Mrs.  Crumpey. 

"Yes.  You'll  help.  You  helped  last  night  when 
I  asked  you  to  peel  the  potatoes  for  breakfast. 
And  you  helped  yesterday  when  I  wanted  you  to 
pick  some  beans.  Ho,  ho !" 

uBut,  Ann,  I  had  business " 

"Business.  Yes,  playing  cards  with  Robinson 
and  them  other  fellows." 

"That  was  business,"  retorted  Mr.  Crumpey. 
"When  a  feller  keeps  bar  and  fellers  come  in  an' 
want  to  play  for  the  nips,  he's  got  to  make  up  the 
game." 

"How  much  profit  did  you  make  out  of  that 
business?"  asked  Mrs.  Crumpey. 


MRS.   CRUMPEY  S  BOARDERS  237 

"Well,  Ann,"  said  Mr.  Crumpey,  sheepishly, 
"the  boys  did  beat  me." 

"I  know  they  did,"  said  Mrs.  Crumpey,  tri- 
umphantly. "I  heard  them  talking  how  cheap 
drinks  had  got  to  be,  since  they  had  got  you  to  play 
eucher.  And  all  this  time  I'm  slaving  in  the  kitchen 
for  them  and  you.  You  won't  send  anywhere,  Mr. 
Crumpey.  You'll  go  yourself  and  get  somebody 
to  cook — or  this  hash  house  closes."  And  Mrs. 
Crumpey,  feeling  that  no  more  need  be  said 
bounced  out  of  the  room. 

The  boarding  house  on  Hungry  Gulch,  the  man- 
agement of  the  culinary  department  of  which  had 
been  Mrs.  Crumpey's  special  care  from  its  start, 
and  which  had  thus  been  made  a  subject  of  conver- 
sation between  its  owners,  was  one  of  those  primi- 
tive affairs  which,  starting  from  a  log  cabin  of  a 
couple  of  rooms,  had  been  added  to  from  time  to 
time  until  it  was  now  a  pile  of  buildings.  When  the 
Crumpeys  first  came  to  the  Gulch  the  head  of  the 
family  was  an  honest  miner,  and  his  better  half  en- 
joyed the  distinction  of  being  the  only  woman  in 
the  camp.  I  have  to  record  the  fact  that  the  claim 
of  Mr.  Crumpey  did  not  pay,  and  his  prudent 
wife  being  the  better  manager  of  the  two,  had 
Crumpey  put  up  a  canvas  addition  to  the  house, 
and  took  in  a  few  boarders  to  help  swell  the  family 
earnings.  The  goodness  of  the  viands  set  upon 


238  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

the  Crumpey's  hospitable  board  was  such  that  the 
majority  of  the  denizens  of  the  once  famed  locality 
sought  quarters  there,  and  Mr.  Crumpey,  nothing 
loath  to  exchange  a  heavy  pick  for  the  role  of  mine 
host,  added  that  most  necessary  adjunct  of  a  min- 
ing place  of  business,  a  bar,  to  the  other  attractions 
of  the  place.  Thus  far  Mrs.  Crumpey  had  done 
all  the  kitchen  work  herself,  but  it  was  quite  evi- 
dent from  the  manner  of  that  excellent  woman, 
that  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  work 
was  more  than  she  cared  to  tackle.  Mr.  Crumpey 
followed  his  good  wife's  example  and  disappeared, 
but  he  took  his  way  toward  the  bar  instead  of  the 
kitchen.  It  may  be  remarked  en  passant  that  I 
had  only  recently  become  a  boarder  at  the  Hungry 
Gulch  hostelry,  and  that  my  presence  there  was 
due  to  a  big  rock  which  caved  from  the  bank,  and 
as  it  had  to  alight  somewhere,  fell,  and  not  too 
gently,  on  one  of  my  feet. 

Considering  myself  an  invalid  in  a  small  way,  I 
had  taken  quarters  with  the  Crumpeys,  and  at  the 
time  I  became  an  unseen  confident  of  the  Crum- 
pey's family  confab,  was  lying  in  my  bunk,  ab- 
sorbed in  one  of  the  latest  emanations  from  the  pen 
of  that  then  favorite,  Mr.  J.  F.  Smith. 

Well,  would  you  believe  it,  but  who  should  come 
to  Crumpey's  that  night  for  supper  but  Long  Jake 
and  Missouri  Bill.  Mrs.  Crumpey  opined  that 


MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS  239 

there  were  a  couple  more  mouths  for  her  to  cook 
for,  for  the  first  named  gentleman  signified  to  her 
liege  lord  between  mouthfuls,  "that  he  had  got 
plumb  tired  of  boardin'  himself."  Mrs.  Crumpey 
looked  darkly  at  Mr.  Crumpey  and  with  a  stern 
nod  told  him  to  "remember  what  she  had  told 
him." 

"When  are  you  going,  Crumpey?"  I  asked,  an 
hour  or  so  afterwards. 

"Going  where?"  asked  Crumpey. 

"To  the  city.  Ain't  you  going  to  get  some  one 
to  help  Mrs.  Crumpey?  I  heard  you  were." 

"Who  the  d told  you  anything  about  it?" 

demanded  Crumpey,  fiercely. 

I  blushed.  Perhaps  those  who  know  me  will  be 
inclined  to  dispute  that  fact,  but  it  had  only  then 
occurred  to  me  that  I  had  laid  myself  liable  to  im- 
putation of  being  an  eavesdropper.  I  confessed 
the  truth,  however,  and  told  him  I  had  heard  him 
and  his  wife  speaking  about  it. 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  said  Crumpey,  who,  when 
he  found  that  his  wife  had  been  airing  her  griev- 
ance only  to  him,  became  mollified  at  once.  "Well, 
yes,  Ann  thinks  the  work  is  getting  too  hard  for 
her  alone,  and  did  speak  to  me  about  getting  some 
one  to  help  her.  I  suppose  I  have  to  go  to  the  city, 
for  I  scarce  know  where  to  look  for  a  girl  with- 
out." 


240  MRS.   CRUMPEY  S  BOARDERS 

" What's  that  Crumpey?  Want  a  gal?  Why 
don't  you  ride  over  to  the  flat  and  get  one  of  Col- 
onel Stebbins'  gals?" 

"Didn't  know  there  was  a  Colonel  Stebbins  at 
the  flat,  or  that  he  had  any  daughters,"  responded 
Crumpey. 

"But  there  is.  The  Colonel  got  in  over  the 
plains  last  week,  and  is  just  restin'  his  oxen  a  bit 
while  he  looks  aroun'.  He's  got  three  gals,  an'  I 
'spect  one  or  two  on  'em  would  like  a  job  fust 
rate." 

"Are  they  good  cooks?"  queried  Crumpey. 

"Cooks?  Oh,  no,  they  can't  cook.  P'raps  Je- 
mima don't  know  how  to  make  dodgers  that'll  jist 
melt  in  yer  mouth.  Cook,  well,  I  sh'd  say  they 
did." 

And  Missouri  Bill  stroked  his  whiskers  fiercely 
at  the  idea  of  a  doubt  being  entertained  of  the 
culinary  abilities  of  the  Colonel's  daughters. 

"I'll  ride  over  to  the  flat  tomorrow,  then,"  said 
Crumpey.  "Perhaps  one  of  them  will  come  and 
help  Ann  while  we're  having  this  rush.  Or  maybe, 
as  you're  acquainted  with  the  family,  you  will  go 
for  me." 

It  did  not  strike  me  at  the  time  (although  it  did 
afterwards),  how  readily  Bill  assented  to  this 
proposition.  Biut  he  did  assent  and  next  morning 
was  off  on  his  mission,  and  before  nightfall  came 


MRS.  CRUMPEY' s  BOARDERS  241 

back  and  imparted  the  intelligence  to  the  waiting 
Crumpeys  that  the  Colonel's  second  girl,  Jemima, 
would  come  over  next  day,  or  as  soon  after,  any- 
way, as  her  pap  could  get  a  mule  for  her  to  ride. 
And,  sure  enough,  the  next  day  they  came.  Need 
it  be  said  that  the  patronage  of  the  Hungry  Gulch 
Hotel  increased  at  once  immeasurably.  Mrs. 
Crumpey  had  her  burdens  lightened  but  she  was 
now  only  a  star  of  the  second  magnitude.  The 
young  and  buxom  Jemima  became  the  goddess  at 
whose  shrine  the  single  gentry  of  the  Gulch  came 
to  worship.  Mrs.  Crumpey  was  a  woman,  that 
was  all  right,  but  Jemima  was  a  "gal";  and  the 
consumption  of  the  Sunday  dinners  at  the  Crumpey 
house  increased  out  of  all  proportion  to  what  it 
had  been  prior  to  the  day  of  Jemima's  advent  upon 
us.  But  this  state  of  affairs  was  too  good  to  last, 
and  when,  one  morning,  Missouri  Bill  appeared  in 
his  best  suit  of  butternut  jeans,  all  hands  felt  in- 
stinctively that  something  more  than  ordinary  was 
about  to  happen.  And  it  did  happen.  The  fel- 
low had  bought  Long  Jake  out  in  the  cabin  they 
owned  and  before  the  swains  of  the  Gulch  realized 
their  danger,  old  Squire  Besom  came,  and  with  a 
few  magic  words  robbed  the  Crumpeys  of  the  at- 
traction of  their  household,  and  transferred  it  up 
the  Gulch  to  Bill's  cabin. 


242  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

"It's  no  use  cutting  up  about  it,  Mrs.  Crumpey," 
said  Bill,  when  the  lady  reproached  him  for  hav- 
ing used  their  place  as  a  sort  of  stepping  stone. 
"It's  a  fac'  that  Jemima  and  I  had  a  sort  of  sneak- 
in'  notion  for  each  other  before  I  left  the  States. 
I  was  powerful  glad  to  get  a  place  for  her  while 
I  was  getting  things  fixed  up,  an'  you've  no  call  to 
git  roiled  cos  we  didn't  tell  you  all  about  it.  Hope 
you  two  will  be  sociable  like,  kase  wimmen  are 
orful  skase  hyar.  So  long." 


CHAPTER  II. 

For  a  few  days  the  boarders  of  Hungry  Gulch 
Hotel  fared  rather  badly.  Our  worthy  hostess, 
having  had  a  spell  of  comparative  leisure  for  a 
month  of  Jemima's  stay,  did  not  take  at  all  kindly 
to  the  kitchen  work  again.  Her  first  proceeding 
was  to  start  Crumpey  out  for  another  assistant, 
and  that  gentleman  having  enjoyed  greater  peace 
of  mind  for  the  past  month  than  ordinary,  while 
the  profits  greatly  increased,  was  not  averse  to  be- 
ing started  out.  But  Mr.  Crumpey,  like  others  of 
whom  I  wot,  had  a  decided  objection  to  any  more 
physical  exertion  than  could  be  avoided,  and  again 
fell  into  error  of  having  others  do  for  him  what 
he  could  have  done  himself.  Instead  of  going  to 


MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS  243 

the  city,  he  wrote  to  his  brother  living  there,  ex- 
plaining what  he  wanted,  and  the  answer  came  in 
the  shape  of  the  person  of  Miss  Sophronia  Gog- 
gins,  a  lady  of  about  thirty  summers,  who  had  thus 
far  steered  clear  of  the  shoals  and  quicksands  of 
matrimony. 

Miss  Goggins  was  not  what  one  would  call  a 
beauty,  except,  perhaps,  by  some  far-fetched  com- 
parison. Of  her  antecedents  little  was  known,  but 
that  little  was  quite  favorable,  so  far  as  was 
requisite  to  the  purposes  of  the  house  of  Hungry 
Gulch.  But  it  was  quite  fortunate,  perhaps,  that 
we  do  not  all  see  an  object  from  the  same  point  of 
vision,  that  what  is  beauty  in  the  eyes  of  one,  is  not 
to  the  eyes  of  his  fellows,  and  vice  versa.  Now, 
for  instance,  the  Arab  worships  as  a  paragon  of 
loveliness,  a  woman  whose  face  is  "like  a  full 
moon,"  and  as  a  further  illustration  of  the  truth  of 
our  position,  travelers  have  written  of  tribes  of 
savages  where  female  beauty  depends  upon  avoir- 
dupois. With  either  of  the  peoples  I  have  named, 
Miss  Sophronia  would  have  been  at  once  set  aside 
and  put  out  of  the  show  of  competition,  for  to  look 
at  her,  a  man  would  think  at  first  sight  that  he 
could  hang  his  hat  on  a  projecting  angle  on  al- 
most any  side.  But  whatever  may  have  been  Miss 
Sophronia's  imperfections  of  form  and  feature  in 
the  opinion  of  your  humble  servant  and  those  who 


244  MRS-  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

thought  with  him,  it  soon  became  evident  that  we 
all  did  not  think  alike.  And  here,  also,  let  me  add, 
that  while  said  form  and  features  might  not  have 
been  such  as  to  excite  the  admiration  of  all  the 
lords  of  creation,  she  possessed  one  feminine  attri- 
bute which  endeared  her  to  our  stomachs,  if  not 
our  hearts — she  could  cook. 

The  first  rain  of  the  season  had  been  one  oc- 
casion of  the  first  accession  of  boarders  at  the  hos- 
pitable Crumpey  home.  It  had  come  rather  early, 
but  the  Forty-niners  had  looked  wise,  told  of  the 
downpour  of  the  year  previous,  prophesied  an  un- 
limited depth  of  snow  in  the  mountains  with  flood 
after  flood  along  the  river  banks  and  the  fresh- 
'uns  from  the  States  could  not  for  a  moment  offer 
to  dispute  such  high  authority.  So,  when  the  first 
storm  came  there  was  an  exodus  from  the  summer 
claims  to  "dry  diggins"  and  the  claim  owners  of 
Hungry  Gulch  were  elated  to  find  a  house  built  to 
their  hands,  where,  instead  of  having  to  roll  out 
and  kindle  fires  on  a  frosty  morning,  they  could 
stretch  in  their  blankets  in  luxuriant  ease,  while  the 
matutinal  meal  was  being  prepared.  And,  once 
having  tasted  these  comforts  it  was  hard  to  give 
them  up  again  as  Crumpey  kept  his  boarders,  not- 
withstanding the  changes  of  administration,  and 
interregnums  which  came  into  the  Crumpey 
kitchen.  Notable  among  the  crowd  which  gath- 


MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS  245 

ered  diurnally  around  the  Crumpey  board,  was 
Fat  Jack,  who,  while  I  will  not  assert  he  was  the 
laziest  fellow  that  ever  lived,  was  certainly  the 
laziest  I  ever  saw.  Jack's  partners  had  built  a 
cabin  near  the  forks  of  the  Gulch,  but  Jack  showed 
no  disposition  to  occupy  it,  even  after  his  partners 
had  left  for  Digger  Flat,  where  they  had  found 
claims  in  locating  which,  the  name  of  Jack  was 
ex  industria  omitted.  But,  though  the  lymphatic 
temperament  of  Jack  kept  him  to  the  hotel  rather 
than  do  his  own  cooking,  the  blind  god  found  his 
way  into  Jack's  heart,  and  it  was  not  many  days 
before  he  showed  such  unmistakable  symptoms  of 
being  smitten  with  the  charms  of  the  angular  So- 
phronia,  that  the  whole  crowd  of  bummers  were 
on  the  cuidad  to  see  what  the  next  move  would 
be.  We  were  not  long  left  in  doubt.  Philoso- 
phers who  have  made  the  amatory  feelings  of  man- 
kind a  study,  assert  that  men  (and  perforce  wo- 
men), seek  their  opposites  in  love.  Jack  was  fat 
and  Sophronia  was  lean;  he  was  short  and  dumpy 
— she  tall,  and  thin  enough  almost  to  hide  behind  a 
broom  handle.  He  was  disposed  to  take  the  world 
as  easy  as  he  could,  while  she  had  enough  "get  up 
and  get"  to  supply  a  dozen  such  families.  Is  it  any 
wonder,  then,  if  the  theory  of  the  aforesaid  philos- 
ophers be  a  true  one,  that  the  flourishing  camp  of 
Hungry  Gulch  should  have  its  romance,  and  that 


246  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

from  carrying  an  occasional  bucket  of  water  from 
the  Gulch  to  relieve  the  fair  Sophronia  from  that 
task  when  the  meal  hours  close  at  hand  demanded 
her  whole  attention,  Jack  fell  to  thinking  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  to  pack  water  for  Sophronia  for 
the  whole  of  their  natural  lives. 

Whether  that  was  the  identical  process  of  reas- 
oning in  which  Jack  indulged  we  cannot  say,  but 
certain  it  was,  that  before  Christmas  came  we  were 
again  favored  with  the  presence  of  Squire  Besom, 
and  in  the  presence  of  a  few  of  the  select  (for 
Jack  knew  that  his  course  would  not  be  approved 
by  the  majority  of  his  cronies),  the  words  which 
bound  them  together  until  death  or  the  district 
court  should  put  them  asunder  were  spoken. 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  was  again  my  bad  fortune  to  be  a  listener  to 
a  dialogue  between  the  Crumpeys  about  the  new 
situation  in  which  the  unlooked-for  conduct  of  Fat 
Jack  and  Miss  Sophronia  had  placed  the  Hungry 
Gulch  establishment.  But,  having  now  been  a  pay- 
ing boarder  from  the  time  the  laws  of  gravitation 
had  caused  the  rock  to  injure  my  left  pedal  ex- 
tremity, Mrs.  Crumpey  had  come  to  regard  me  as 
one  of  the  family,  and  either  for  that  reason,  or 


The  words  which  bound  them  together  until  death  or  the 
district  court  should  put  them  asunder,  were  spoken.  (See 
page  246.) 


MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS  247 

because  she  wanted  the  presence  of  one  who  would 
probably  side  with  her  in  what  she  had  to  say,  Mrs. 
Crumpey  did  not  wait  to  get  her  liege  lord  by  him- 
self to  become  the  recipient  of  a  curtain  lecture, 
but  boldly  tackled  him  before  me.  And  she  com- 
menced by  hitting  him  in  the  tenderest  spot  your 
average  benedict  can  be  hit. 

"Mr.  Crumpey,  I  want  some  money." 

"How  much,  Ann?"  asked  that  gentleman, 
pulling  a  handful  of  silver  from  his  pocket. 

"More  than  youVe  clawed  up  there,"  replied 
Mrs.  Crumpey,  with  a  scornful  look  at  his  offer- 
ings. "I  want  two  hundred  dollars." 

"Mercy  on  me,  Ann,"  said  Crumpey,  soon  as 
he  could  get  his  breath.  "Why,  there  ain't  that 
much  money  in  the  house." 

"Then  go  dig  it  up  where  youVe  got  it  sunk," 
retorted  Mrs.  Crumpey.  "I  was  a  fool  to  trust 
anything  to  you  in  the  first  place.  I  shall  go  to  the 
city  tomorrow,  myself;  and  see  if  I  can't  get  a  cook 
that  will  not  pack  off  with  the  first  man  that  asks 
her  to.  Two  hundred  dollars,  I  say." 

"Bless  us,  Ann;  but  what  will  the  boarders  do, 
if  you  go  away?" 

"I  expect  they'll  fare  pretty  poorly,  if  they  de- 
pend upon  you.  You  couldn't  leave  your  old  eu- 
cher  game  long  enough  to  cook  them  a  breakfast 
if  they  were  starving.  But  I've  looked  out  for 


248  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

them.  I  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  that  Gog- 
gins  thing  was  going  to  make  a  fool  of  herself,  and 
that's  why  I  wouldn't  let  you  send  the  old  'Com- 
municator' away.  He  can  cook  for  you  till  I  come 
back.  Two  hundred  dollars." 

It  was  very  plain  to  me  that  if  Mr.  Crumpey  had 
the  sum  she  mentioned,  which  I  did  not  doubt,  that 
she  would  get  it,  and  sure  enough  the  next  day  saw 
her  perched  on  Bill  Somer's  mule,  ready  to  start 
for  the  goodly  city  of  Sacramento,  the  point  from 
whence  our  portion  of  the  mines  was  supplied 
with  everything  it  purchased,  from  a  paper  of  tacks 
up.  And  as  I  shook  hands  with  her  and  wished 
her  a  successful  journey,  she  said: 

"Keep  the  boys  in  good  humor,  won't  you,  Mr. 
Squills  ?  I'll  hurry  back.  I'll  bring  some  one  back 
with  me  that'll  have  some  sense  about  you  men." 

It  affords  me  great  pleasure  to  chronicle  the 
fact,  that  Hungry  Gulch  got  along  famously  for 
a  while  after  our  hostess'  departure.  The  "Com- 
municator" was  an  old  Oregonian,  who  had  some- 
how strayed  up  to  his  present  quarters,  and  among 
other  frontier  accomplishments,  had  acquired  the 
one  to  get  up  a  good,  plain  meal  for  almost  any 
number  of  men.  Unfortunately,  he  had  a  little 
weakness  (as  all  great  men  have),  and  this  weak- 
ness of  the  "Communicator"  was  gin  and  bitters. 
He  did  not  imbibe  this  mixture  as  a  regular  bever- 


MRS.   CRUMPEY  S  BOARDERS  249 

age  by  any  means,  nay,  he  knew  his  weakness  and 
fought  manfully  against  it,  but  the  fact  was  never- 
theless, that  in  a  most  unexpected  moment  he 
would  seize  with  a  desire  for  a  potation,  and  if  he 
got  it,  would  be  howling  drunk  in  no  time  after- 
wards. As  may  be  presumed  the  knowledge  of  this 
failure  of  the  webfoot  gentleman  was  a  bar  to  his 
advancement,  notably  so  in  the  previous  case,  for 
Mrs.  Crumpey  had  strong  intentions  of  putting 
him  permanently  in  the  place  made  vacant  by  the 
perfidious  Sophronia,  and  was  only  deterred  from 
doing  so  by  the  fear  that  some  fine  afternoon  gin 
and  bitters  would  get  the  better  of  him  and  leave 
her  worse  off  than  before. 

But  the  "Communicator"  had  given  her  his 
faithful  promise  to  not  look  upon  the  tempter  for 
one  week  at  least,  and  strong  in  her  faith  in  his 
promise,  she  set  out  on  her  mission. 

Before  the  stipulated  week  expired  the  express- 
man, making  the  regular  trips  brought  copies  of 
the  Times  and  Transcript  for  us,  and  a  letter  to 
Crumpey.  In  the  paper  we  saw  her  name  in  the 
list  of  wants  and  Crumpey  informed  us,  in  high 
glee,  that  his  wife  was  going  to  bring  a  "widder" 
up  with  her. 

"She'll  find  she's  raised  thunder  this  time," 
added  Crumpey,  with  a  huge  grin. 

"Thunder,  why?" 


250  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

"Bringin'  a  widder  up  here  among  you  chaps. 
Why,  one  widder'l  do  more  towards  getting  you 
fellers  stuck  after  her  in  forty  minutes  than  a  gal 
would  in  forty  weeks."  And  Mr.  Crumpey  looked 
as  if  he  only  hoped  his  auguries  would  prove  true. 

"Widders  have  a  knack  of  getting  fellers  on  a 
string  afore  they  really  know  it,"  continued  Mr. 
Crumpey,  musingly.  "I  was  pretty  near  being  cor- 
ralled by  one  back  in  Injianny — I  do  believe,  if  I 
hadn't  hurried  up  matters  with  Ann  that  widder 
would  have  married  me  agin  my  will."  Mr. 
Crumpey  did  not  appear  to  derive  the  consolation 
he  should  from  this  reflection,  for  he  sighed 
gloomily. 

I  did  not  press  Mr.  Crumpey  for  the  confidences 
he  seemed  so  willing  to  unbosom  himself  of,  but 
went  in  to  the  kitchen  to  inform  the  "Communica- 
tor" of  the  intelligence  received.  That  gentle- 
man, however,  was  so  unsteady  in  his  movements, 
as  he  swayed  over  a  big  pan  of  dough  for  bis- 
cuits, dropping  ashes  from  his  pipe  into  the  mix- 
ture every  little  while,  that  I  saw  he  had  yielded 
again  to  his  gin  and  bitters  which  would  soon  have 
the  mastery  over  him. 

In  due  time,  however,  the  expected  ones  arrived 
and  it  did  not  take  our  worthy  hostess  long  to  dis- 
cover that  the  "Communicator"  had  broken  faith 
with  her  and  he  was  ignominiously  hustled  from 


MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS  251 

the  premises.  Our  supper  that  night  was  made  up 
of  odds  and  ends  for  I  had  imparted  to  the  board- 
ers the  incident  of  the  ashes  in  the  dough,  as  a  rea- 
son why  the  nice  looking  biscuits  should  be  ig- 
nored, but  we  had  a  rousing  breakfast,  prepared 
by  the  landlady  and  her  new  assistant,  who  was  in- 
troduced to  us  by  the  plebeian  name  of  Mrs.  Brown. 
All  the  faith  I  had  heretofore  possessed  in  the  good 
sense  and  judgment  of  Mrs.  Crumpey  vanished  as 
soon  as  I  saw  what  she  had  brought  among  us. 
When  Crumpey  told  me  about  the  expected  "wid- 
der"  I  had  immediately  formed  a  picture  of  her  in 
my  mind's  eye  wherein  she  was  represented  as  fat 
and  dumpy,  about  forty  years  old,  or  on  the  shady 
side  of  forty,  skimp  haired  and  toothless,  with  a 
touch  of  rheumatics  in  her  gait.  But,  how  dif- 
ferent from  my  preconceived  opinions  were  the 
facts.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  a  plump  little  woman 
on  the  sunny  side  of  thirty,  with  brown  eyes  and 
golden  hair,  and  a  voice  soft  and  musical  as  the 
tones  of  a  flute.  I  felt  in  danger  of  making  a  fool 
of  myself  the  first  week  she  was  there,  and  Bill 
Sykes  did.  I  learned  this  fact  from  Mrs.  Crum- 
pey, who  I  believe  I  have  already  observed,  made 
quite  a  confidant  of  me.  "It's  what  you  might  ex- 
pect, though,"  said  I.  "Such  a  nice  looking  piece 
as  Mrs.  Brown  must  expect  admirers." 


252  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

"They  can  admire,  if  they  want  to,  Squills,  but 
that's  all  the  good  it'll  do  'em.  She's  had  enough 
of  matrimony  I  can  tell  you.  There  ain't  the  man 
living  who  can  persuade  her  to  put  her  neck  in  the 
noose  again." 

The  patronage  of  the  house,  which  had  fallen  off 
some  under  the  regime  of  the  "Communicator,-' 
soon  was  back  to  and  even  beyond  the  former 
standard.  A  live  woman  in  the  mines  was  in  it- 
self something  out  of  the  usual  course,  and  when 
to  this  was  added  the  fact  that  the  woman  was 
young,  single  and  handsome,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  if  the  whole  masculine  population  was 
aroused.  It  was  not  long,  either,  that  the  hopeful 
swains  (most  of  them  who  had  left  an  Eliza,  Jer- 
usha,  Malvina,  or  some  other  female  at  home  to 
await  their  return  with  the  much  hoped  for 
"pile"),  thinking  probably  the  old  saying  of  the 
"early  bird"  would  apply  in  this  case  as  well  as 
others,  began  to  show  outward  symptoms  of  the 
hidden  impulses  of  their  hearts,  which  told  us  who 
were  unscathed,  the  truth,  plainer  than  words  could 
have  done.  Let  me  say  this,  in  praise  of  myself, 
however,  that  after  the  first  paroxysm  of  admira- 
tion on  my  part,  I  had  returned  to  my  allegiance 
to  my  Betsy  Ann,  and  could  contemplate  the  ma- 
neuvers of  my  less  trustworthy  companions  with  the 
utmost  equanimity — hence,  probably,  I  was  made 


MRS.  CRUMPEY' s  BOARDERS  253 

the  repository  of  the  hopes  and  fears  of  more  than 
one  who  dared  look  forward  in  the  hopes  of  pos- 
sessing the  fair  widow  at  no  very  distant  day. 
After  Bill  Sykes  got  his  quietus  he  abandoned  the 
Crumpey  board  and  fixed  up  a  cabin  just  below 
the  forks  of  the  Gulch,  for  which  action  on  his  part 
he  got  no  credit.  I  think  both  Mrs.  Crumpey  and 
the  fair  widow  would  have  kept  secret  the  tale  of 
his  rejection,  but  he  sulked  so  badly  and  avoided 
his  old  resorts  so  entirely,  that  the  crowd  soon 
dropped  on  to  the  state  of  affairs.  "Shanky" 
Myres  gave  his  view  of  Bill's  conduct  when  he 
said :  "Well,  if  I  ax  a  woman  to  marry  me  an'  she 
don't  want  me,  she  can  just  go  to  thunder — I  shan't 
let  her  spoil  my  appetite  for  good  grub,"  which 
sentiment  met  with  high  favor.  Alas,  poor  Shanky. 
What  a  difference  there  is  between  profession  and 
practice  with  us  all.  Shanky  first  gave  indubitable 
signs  of  having  fallen  a  victim  to  the  charms  of  the 
widow  by  appearing  at  the  dinner  table  one  Sun- 
day in  the  closing  months  of  winter,  rigged  out  in 
a  boiled  shirt  and  a  pair  of  thin  boots.  Arkansas 
Joe  went  Shanky  one  better,  having  given  a  dollar 
to  Squire  Besom's  darkey  to  cut  his  hair.  Not  to 
be  outdone  in  the  endeavors  to  make  themselves 
presentable  in  the  eyes  of  the  object  of  their  soul's 
affection,  the  rest  of  the  widow's  admirers  were 
not  behind  in  the  matter  of  personal  adornment. 


254  MRS-   CRUMPEY  S  BOARDERS 

Dutch  Bob  even  went  so  far  as  to  buy  a  razor,  and 
shave  clean. 

Life  was  fast  becoming  a  burden  to  Mrs.  Brown. 
Did  she  look  into  the  sitting  room  (barroom  I 
mean),  of  an  evening  half  a  dozen  were  on  their 
feet  in  a  minute  in  the  hopes  of  something  being 
wanted.  Did  the  water  bucket  get  low — some  one 
was  there  to  fill  it.  If  she  escaped,  after  the  day's 
labor  was  over  to  read,  one  or  the  other  would  be 
around,  and  even  if  he  didn't  talk  to  her,  he  looked 
so  wishful,  that  in  the  goodness  of  her  heart  she 
would  lay  the  book  aside.  But  it  was  when  Mrs. 
Crumpey  would  leave  the  family  apartment  for  the 
night's  rest,  that  the  agony  became  unbearable. 
There  were  always  two  or  three  watching  for 
an  opportunity  to  have  a  word  with  her,  for 
her  ears  alone,  and  each  would  try  to  outsit  the 
other;  so  in  self-defense  she  had  put  off  to  bed  an 
hour  or  two  before  she  wanted  to.  But  as  I  still 
remained  true  to  my  allegiance  to  B'etsy  Ann,  she 
instinctively  felt  that  she  could  confide  in  me.  "Oh, 
Mr.  Squills,"  said  she  to  me,  one  day  as  I  passed 
by  the  kitchen  door,  on  my  way  to  the  claim.  "I'm 
in  a  peck  of  trouble  and  want  your  advice." 

"Tell  me  your  troubles  and  you  shall  have  it.  It 
may  not  be  worth  much,  though." 

"Oh,  I'm  pestered  to  death  by  these  men." 

"You  ought  to  feel  flattered,  Mrs.  Brown." 


MRS.   CRUMPEY  S  BOARDERS  255 

uBut  I  don't.  Here's  Lord  knows  how  many 
of  them  want  to  marry  me.  And  I  can't  marry  all, 
or  any  of  them." 

"Then  tell  them  so  and  send  them  about  their 
business." 

"That's  what  I've  tried  to  do,  and  they  won't 
be  sent.  There's  Arkansas  Joe  is  a  sample  for  you. 
He  says  to  me,  'You'll  feel  different  some  day,  and 
won't  hate  our  sex  so  much  an'  I'll  wait.'  What 
am  I  to  do  when  men  talk  that  way?" 

"Well,  the  fellow  is  pretty  well  gone  on  you,  I 
must  say.  Is  he  the  only  one  that  has  proposed?" 

"No,  Shanky  has,  and  so  has  Mr.  Hume.  But 
there's  several  more  that  want  a  word  in  private 
with  me,  so  they  say." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Brown,  it  is  a  hard  case  to  advise. 
Why  don't  you  set  a  time  for  each  one  when  you'll 
give  him  his  answer.  Have  the  same  time  for  all 
and  mitten  the  whole  caboodle  at  once?" 

"What  an  idea.  But  I  needn't  have  expected 
any  sympathy  from  you,  or  any  other  man.  I  de- 
clare it's  too  mean.  I  wish  they  would  do  like  Mr. 
Sykes  did.  No,  I  don't,  either.  It  would  break 
up  Mrs.  Crumpey's  business.  I've  a  great  mind  to 
go  away  tomorrow." 

"For  Heaven's  sake  don't  do  that,  Mrs.  Brown; 
if  you  do  we'll  have  to  fall  back  on  the  old  *  Com- 
municator,' or  else  go  to  boarding  ourselves." 


256  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

"Well,  I  won't  then,"  said  she,  relenting.  'That 
is,  I  won't  if  I  can  help  myself.  I  want  to  stay 
here  until  spring,  but  I  can't  be  pestered  the  way  I 


am." 


"Well,  Mrs.  Brown,  I  can't  advise  you  any  bet- 
ter than  I  have."  Just  then  Mrs.  Crumpey  came 
in  and  I  went  out. 

I  believe  I  have  already  mentioned  the  fact  that 
I  was  in  confidence  of  some  of  the  would-be  lovers 
as  well.  Consequently  I  was  not  surprised  when 
Shanky  took  me  one  side  the  next  Monday  for  a 
confidential  communication. 

"I'm  gettin'  on  bully  with  the  widow,  Squills.  I 
talked  to  her  again  last  night,  and  she  asked  a 
month  to  consider,  perviding  I  didn't  say  anything 
more.  I'll  be  all  right." 

I  could  do  no  less  than  congratulate  him.  But 
I  wondered  all  the  same,  if  Mrs.  Brown  had  taken 
my  advice,  after  all. 

A  month  is  not  a  very  long  time.  If  I  owe  a 
man  a  hundred  dollars  to  be  paid  in  a  month,  pay- 
day comes  around  with  frightful  rapidity.  But  in 
the  present  instance  a  month  was  only  an  ordinary 
one  to  me,  whatever  it  had  been  to  Shanky.  I  had 
entirely  forgotten  the  conversation,  when  one  after- 
noon Shanky  sought  me  once  more. 

"Tomorrow  I'll  know  my  fate,  Squills." 

"How  is  that,  Shanky?" 


MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS  257 

"Month  is  up.  She  told  me  to  come  into  the 
sitting  room  at  nine  in  the  evening." 

"And  do  you  still  feel  confident  as  you  did?" 

"I  don't  know  how  I  feel.  Guess  it  will  be  all 
right.  I  see  she's  thrown  off  on  those  other  fel- 
lows entirely." 

The  next  day,  however,  the  Hungry  Gulch  was 
favored  with  a  visit  from  a  gentleman,  whom  we 
couldn't  put  up.  Shanky  thought  he  was  the  fresh 
one  that  was  expected  to  buy  the  Hogem  Claim, 
while  Joe  was  equally  sure  that  if  he  stayed  at  the 
Gulch  he'd  blossom  out  into  a  faro  dealer.  He 
was  not  a  miner,  that  was  certain,  for  one  look  at 
his  hands  was  enough  to  show  that  he  didn't  handle 
the  pick  and  shovel.  No  one  seemed  to  know  him, 
nor  did  he  seem  to  know  any  one  there,  though  he 
sent  his  mule  back  and  evidently  intended  to  stay  a 
while. 

"Busy  this  evening,  Mr.  Squills?"  asked  the 
widow  of  me  at  supper  time,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  that  I  know  of.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I'd  like  to  have  you  come  into  the  sitting  room 
after  a  while.  Say  about  nine  o'clock,  if  you  can." 

I  promised  I  would  and  went  on  with  supper. 
As  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  dropping  into  the 
sitting  room  whenever  I  felt  like  it,  I  had  no  prep- 
arations to  make  for  the  occasion,  and  would  just 
as  like  as  not  got  into  a  game  of  seven-up  with 


258  MRS.  CRUMPEY'S  BOARDERS 

Crumpey,  if  Shanky  had  not  come  in  with  his 
boiled  shirt  on.  That  reminded  me  that  nine  o'clock 
was  the  time  when  he  was  to  learn  his  fate,  and  I 
wouldn't  then  have  missed  the  appointment  on  any 
terms.  Pretty  soon  in  came  Arkansas  Joe,  and  he 
was  dressed  up,  and  looking  around  the  room  it 
seemed  as  though  the  majority  was  going  to  a  ball 
or  somewhere  else,  of  feminine  resort. 

As  it  came  near  the  appointed  time  I  stepped 
into  the  ladies'  apartment,  which  I  found  empty 
except  for  the  stranger  who  came  that  day.  Men 
didn't  need  introductions  in  those  days  and  it 
wasn't  long  before  we  struck  up  an  acquaintance. 
Then  the  door  opened  and  in  came  Shanky,  who 
looked  at  us  as  though  he  wished  us — well,  any- 
where except  where  we  were.  He  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  Arkansas  Joe,  and  he  by  Hume,  and  so 
they  kept  coming  until  there  were  about  a  dozen 
of  us  and  still  no  signs  of  the  widow.  But  presently 
she  came  in  with  Mrs.  Crumpey.  She  was  dressed 
in  her  best  and  looked  prettier  than  ever. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  said  she,  in  that 
musical  voice,  "I  am  pleased  to  see  you  all  here. 
Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  husband,  Mr.  Brown, 
who  came  today." 

Talk  of  the  silence  of  the  tombs !  It  would  have 
been  revelry  compared  with  that  room. 


MRS.   CRUMPEY  S  BOARDERS  259 

uMy  husband  and  I  have  been  estranged,  but 
all  is  explained  now.  And  as  friends  of  mine  I 
know  that  you  will  all  be  pleased  at  our  reconcilia- 


tion;' 


Still  silence.  It  was  broken  at  last — Shanky 

Myres  was  first  to  break  it.  "Well,  I'll  be ," 

said  he,  as  he  went  through  the  door.  Whether 
human  nature  is  deceitful  or  not,  I  do  not  feel 
called  upon  to  say.  There  were  some  who  slipped 
out  after  Shanky,  but  Arkansas  Joe  came  up  and 
shook  hands  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown. 

"You  told  the  truth,  Mrs.  Brown,  when  you  told 
me  you  couldn't  marry.  I  give  up,  and  only  hope 
Brown  ain't  come  to  take  our  cook  away.  This  is 
the  first  of  April,  an'  I  must  say  you've  played  it 
bully  on  the  hull  bilin'  of  us." 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

Mr.  Snively  had  swept  off  his  doorstep,  tidied  up 
his  domicile  generally,  carried  all  the  old  boots, 
breeches,  gum  clothes  and  other  essentials  of  a  la- 
borer in  hydraulic  diggings  into  his  woodshed,  and 
thus  having  righted  everything  in  and  about  the 
house  to  his  supreme  satisfaction  had  lighted  that 
constant  companion  of  his  lonely  hours  and  lain 
down  on  the  improvised  lounge  on  the  porch  to  en- 
joy life. 

It  will  be  needless,  after  the  above  resume  of 
Mr.  Snively's  operations,  for  us  to  add  that  he  was 
a  bachelor.  But  he  was,  and  apparently  a  con- 
firmed one.  Tradition  pointed  to  the  fact  that 
some  twelve,  fifteen  years  or  more  before,  Mr. 
Snively  had  been  most  assiduous  in  his  attention  to 
one  Lucy  Jane  Jones,  eldest  daughter  of  the  local 
physician  of  that  name,  who  at  that  time  had 
reached  the  mature  age  of  fourteen  years.  Also 
that  Mr.  Snively' s  then  partner  (Long  Jake)  had 
made  some  remarks  to  him  about  the  matter,  in 
which  the  words  "trundle-bed  trash"  were  more 
than  once  repeated,  and  that  as  a  consequence  of 
this  unwarranted  mixing  in  of  Long  Jake  into  mat- 


262  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

ters  which  were  of  no  consequence  to  him,  the  firm 
of  Snively  &  Company  was  hastily  dissolved,  and 
Long  Jake  hied  to  other  quarters.  But  Lucy  Jane, 
finding  that  female  charms  were  at  a  premium  in 
the  matrimonial  market  of  the  times,  while  her  own 
budding  beauties  were  rated  far  above  those  of  her 
sex  who  had  advanced  a  few  years  farther  along 
the  path  of  life,  incontinently  snubbed  Mr.  Snively 
soon  afterward,  by  going  to  an  evening  party  with 
Arkansas  Bill,  leaving  Mr.  Snively,  who  had  called 
at  the  doctor's  residence  with  the  implied  under- 
standing that  he  should  be  her  escort,  in  a  state  of 
great  wrath  and  mortification.  As  Lucy  Jane  never 
showed  any  signs  of  repenting  the  Arkansas  Bill 
episode,  but  persisted  in  encouraging  the  attentions 
of  that  estimable  gentleman  until  he,  in  turn,  was 
"left"  for  a  Dutch  butcher,  with  plenty  of  fat  cat- 
tle (who  finally  bore  away  the  prize),  Mr.  Snively 
felt  that  he  must  uphold  the  dignity  of  manhood 
by  letting  Lucy  Jane  severely  alone,  which  he  did. 
Hence  what  bade  fair  to  be  two  loving  hearts, 
drifted  further  and  further  apart,  and  the  only  con- 
solation Mr.  Snively  felt  was  first,  when  Arkansas 
Bill  was  dropped,  and  second,  the  shrivelled, 
baggy,  draggled  out  appearance  made  by  Lucy 
Jane,  after  she  had  been  the  butcher's  wife  for  ten 
or  a  dozen  years. 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  263 

Being  a  gentleman  of  very  orderly  tastes,  Mr. 
Snively  had  fitted  up  his  domicile  with  such  an  eye 
to  comfort  and  beauty,  that  it  gave  rise  more  than 
once  to  the  impression  that  the  gentleman  had,  in 
the  many  of  the  gentler  sex  who,  from  time  to 
time  grew  to  womanhood,  in,  or  essayed  a  brief 
residence  at,  Blue  Canyon,  one  who  he  felt  was  the 
one  above  all  others,  fitted  to  take  the  place  in  his 
heart  once  held  by  the  perfidious  Lucy  Jane.  But 
the  march  of  time  served  only  to  show  the  falsity 
of  these  rumors,  the  wound  had  been  too  deep  to 
be  so  easily  healed.  Mr.  Snively  adorned  his 
porch  with  climbing,  and  the  walk  to  his  house 
with  monthly,  roses,  for  his  own  gratification.  He 
papered  the  walls  of  his  cabin  with  select  cuts  from 
Harper's  Weekly  or  Frank  Leslie's  Illustrated  that 
his  own  eye  could  have  the  pleasure  of  resting 
thereon.  He  kept  a  cow  because  he  liked  plenty  of 
milk,  raised  cabbages,  turnips  and  squash  because 
he  had  a  nice  piece  of  ground  for  that  purpose,  and 
finally  got  himself  a  big  double  bed  with  two  mat- 
tresses, because  he  liked  his  comfort  when  the  toils 
of  the  day  were  over.  No  more  thoughts  of  mat- 
rimony found  place  in  his  mind,  the  society  of  his 
tabby  cat  was  all  that  he  desired.  Perhaps  the  fact 
that  many  times  since  Lucy  Jane's  reprehensible 
conduct  had  doomed  him  to  single  blessedness,  that 
the  bedrock  had  come  close  to  the  surface,  with  no 


264  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

blue  gravel  on  it,  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  his  fixed  resolution.  For  it  cannot  be  denied, 
that  under  such  circumstances,  the  expense  of  a 
family,  with  grub  and  gum  boots  for  himself,  is 
enough  to  make  an  expectant  benedict  shudder,  and 
one  who  is  only  contemplating  matrimony  from  a 
safe  distance,  rejoice,  that  a  way  of  escape  is  yet 
open. 

We  left  Mr.  Snively  comfortably  smoking.  Ly- 
ing upon  the  lounge  we  have  described  with  his 
feet  at  an  angle  of  about  thirty  degrees  above  the 
rest  of  his  person,  he  watched  the  fragrant  wreaths 
as  they  curled  in  fantastic  spirals  and  floated  away, 
and  was  supremely  happy.  Such  is  the  soothing, 
mollifying  effects  of  a  good  conscience  and  good 
tobacco.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  gate  of  his  yard 
close  with  a  bang,  and  looking  lazily  down  the 
walk,  saw  some  of  his  neighbor's  children  ap- 
proaching. Mr.  Snively  did  not  think  it  worth  his 
while  to  change  from  the  comfortable  recumbent 
position  he  had  taken,  so  he  remained  quiet. 

"Mr.  Snively,"  piped  a  little  girl,  uwe  have 
come  to  ask  you  for  a  melon. " 

"A  millyon;  yes,  of  course,  glad  to  have  you 
come  and  ask  for  one,  instead  of  spoiling  half  a 
dozen  for  the  sake  of  stealing  one/'  and  Mr.  Sniv- 
ely good-naturedly  rose  and  headed  the  procession 
to  the  melon  patch. 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  265 

We  have  said  nothing  of  melons  heretofore,  but 
the  fact  was,  that  the  Snively  garden  was  famous 
in  the  season  for  the  luscious,  juicy  specimens  of 
that  fruit  which  the  scientific  husbandry  of  our 
friend  caused  it  to  produce.  It  was  near  the  end 
of  the  melon  time  now,  and  many  a  feast  had  the 
little  ones  of  Blue  Canyon  indulged  in  by  the  favor 
of  our  bachelor  friend,  for  he  doted  on  children — 
thought  almost  as  much  of  one  as  of  a  cat.  We 
regret  much  to  say,  that  certain  boys  had  taken  ad- 
vantage of  Mr.  Snively's  absence  to  "plug"  numer- 
ous melons  before  they  found  some  of  sufficient 
ripeness  to  tempt  their  boyish  palates,  at  which  pro- 
cedure Mr.  Snively  waxed  wroth  and  his  usually 
placid  nature  was  so  stirred  up  that  he  for  a  time 
swore  vengeance  against  the  whole  tribe  of  kids  at 
Blue  Canyon.  But  in  a  few  days  the  natural  good- 
ness of  the  Snively  disposition,  combined  with  a 
large  accession  to  the  number  of  melons,  led  Mr. 
Snively  to  reconsider  his  first  determination  and  the 
youthful  privileges  were  restored. 

Mr.  Snively  led  the  march  to  the  melon  patch, 
and  made  the  hearts  of  the  youngsters  happy  at  the 
expense  of  the  last  ripe  one  he  had.  When  it  was 
thus  disposed  of  the  time  for  conversation  had 
come. 

"Why  ain't  you  chaps  at  school,  now?" 

"  'Cos,  we've  got  a  vacation,  sir." 


266  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

"A  vacation !  That  means  that  you  are  to  run 
wild  till  school  takes  up  again.  I  don't  see  the  use 
of  vacations,  no  how.  You  forget  what  youVe 
learned  before  you  git  a  chance  to  keep  on.  It's 
just  like  miners  what  spend  in  the  summer  what 
they've  made  in  the  winter  time.  How  long  will 
this  vacation  last?" 

"Only  till  school  ma'am  comes  back,  sir." 

"Is  the  school  ma'am  taking  a  vacation,  too?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  mamma's  gone  with  her." 

"And  who  gets  up  the  feed  for  your  pap  while 
your  mamma's  gone?  Not  you,  little  coves?" 

"Oh  no,  sir,  papa's  sister  has  come  to  see  us. 
She  is  having  a  vacation,  too." 

Mr.  Snively  opened  his  eyes  widely  at  this  infor- 
mation. But  he  gave  no  further  sign  as  they  kept 
on  down  the  walk  until  the  gate  was  reached. 

"Tell  you  what,  young  'uns.  I  want  to  see  your 
pap.  Is  he  at  home?" 

"No,  sir,  he  went  up  to  Grub  Creek  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Well,  tell  him  to  come  over  when  he  can.  I'm 
going  to  take  a  vacation  myself,  and  I'd  kind  of 
like  the  old  man  to  look  out  a  little  for  things  here, 
while  I  was  gone." 

As  the  implied  engagement  of  their  worthy  pro- 
genitor seemed  to  promise  them  the  freedom  of  the 
melon  patch  when  more  ripe  ones  came  on  in  the 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  267 

due  course  of  nature,  the  observations  of  Mr. 
Snively  fell  upon  attentive  ears.  With  a  promise 
that  his  message  should  be  given  forthwith  the 
troop  departed  and  Mr.  Snively  resumed  his  po- 
sition in  the  grateful  shade  of  the  porch. 

It  was  so  fated,  however,  that  the  repose  in 
which  Mr.  Snively  hoped  to  indulge,  was  again  to 
be  rudely  interrupted.  For  the  genial  Mr.  Wells, 
the  fond  parent  of  the  brood  which  had  made  the 
descent  upon  Snively,  had  suddenly  changed  his 
mind  about  prospecting  up  Grub  Canyon,  and  put- 
ting off  that  venture  until  a  cooler  season,  was  at 
home  upon  their  return,  and  each  rushed  forward 
to  be  the  first  in  delivering  the  message. 

uSo,"  said  Mr.  Wells,  "Old  Bill  is  going  to  take 
a  vacation?  I  wonder  what  fool  notion  has  come 
into  his  head  now?  But  he's  a  good  feller,  an'  I 
guess  me  and  the  young  'uns  can  take  care  of  his 
traps  for  him.  Oh,  Lizy !" 

Eliza,  who  had  just  completed  that  everlasting 
task  of  womankind,  and  got  the  dinner  dishes 
washed  and  put  away,  was  in  her  room,  fixing  her- 
self up  (for  she  was  a  neat  body),  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  afternoon,  so  it  took  two  or  three  calls 
from  Mr.  Wells  to  bring  her  in  sight.  But  she 
came  at  last. 

"Lizy,  don't  you  want  to  take  a  walk?" 


268  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

"What,  in  this  hot  sun?  Why,  you  must  think 
I'm  stuck  after  walkin'.  Where  d'ye  want  me  to 
go?" 

"Well,  Bill  Snively  has  sent  word  that  he  wants 
to  see  me,  an'  I  just  thought  I'd  run  over  at  once." 

"It's  not  my  place  to  go  round  callin'  on  your 
people  here,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  do  it.  When  Mrs. 
Snively  has  called  on  me  it  will  be  time  enough  for 
me  to  go  trapesing  there." 

"Mrs.  Snively,  haw,  haw,  haw.  There  ain't  no 
Mrs.  Snively.  Bill's  a  bach." 

"An'  you  want  me  to  be  runnin'  around  to  see 
old  baches !  Jehiel,  what  can  you  be  thinking  on  ? 
I  saw  one  bach's  house  yesterday,  an'  a  woman 
couldn't  get  near  the  door  'thout  spoiling  her  dress 
on  tobacco  quids.  No,  indeed." 

Mr.  Wells  didn't  seem  discouraged  at  this  flat 
refusal.  He  chewed  his  tobacco  reflectively,  tak- 
ing no  apparent  offense  at  the  remarks  of  his 
maiden  sister  about  the  "tobacco  quids"  which  had 
excited  her  indignation  and  distrust  when  she  spoke 
of  the  approaches  to  the  miner's  domicile  which 
had  obtruded  itself  upon  her  vision  during  the  jour- 
ney she  had  made.  Mr.  Wells  had  an  object,  and 
felt  that  he  must  dissemble.  What  deceivers  men 
are! 

"I  think  you'd  better  go,  Lizy.  'Taint  like  what 
you  may  think.  Bill's  an  old  pard — we  mined  to- 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  269 

gather  on  Squaw  Flat  twenty  years  ago.  All  these 
wimmen  run  in  on  him  just  when  they  want  to,  and 
the  children  are  dead  for  him.  Then  he's  got 
peaches  and  pears  and  mellyons,  an'  the  best  lot  of 
garden  sass  to  be  found  anywhere.  He'll  take  it 
powerful  kind  if  we  should  come  over." 

Whether  it  was  the  thoughts  of  possible  benefits 
from  the  garden  sass,  or  from  a  sisterly  inclina- 
tion to  oblige,  or  from  the  general  kindness  of  her 
womanly  disposition,  we  shall  not  now  stop  to  in- 
quire, but  Eliza  suffered  herself  to  be  convinced, 
and  putting  on  her  broad  hat,  they  were  soon  on 
their  way  to  Mr.  Snively's  humble  abode.  Upon 
their  way  over  Mr.  Wells  felt  called  upon  to  while 
the  tedium  of  the  walk  by  pointing  out  various 
spots,  whose  history  had  become  familiar  with  him 
during  his  many  years  of  residence  in  that  vicinage. 

"Whar  you  see  them  three  stumps,  Lizy,  thar 
used  to  be  a  big  cabin.  Three  Illinois  men  lived 
in  it.  They  all  got  stuck  after  the  same  gal,  and 
each  feller  thought  he  was  goin'  to  get  her.  An' 
each  feller  wanted  to  buy  the  others  out  in  the 
cabin." 

"An'  which  won  the  prize,  Jehiel?" 

"Prize !  I  say  prize.  Wait  till  I  tell  yer.  Nei- 
ther one  would  sell  out,  so  they  agreed  to  play  cut- 
throat euchre  for  the  house  the  next  Sunday." 

"I  hope  the  best  lookin'  man  won  it,  Jehiel." 


270  MR.  SNIVELY  S  VACATION 

"But  he  didn't.  Before  Sunday  come  around 
the  gal  throwed  'em  all  and  married  the  most  or- 
nery looking  Englishman  you  ever  seed.  Then  they 
went  down  to  the  store  and  all  got  on  a  big  drunk 
an'  next  day  moved  under  a  big  tree,  sot  the  old 
cabin  afire  and  sluiced  away  the  ground  it  had 
stood  on." 

"They  should  ha'  been  ashamed  of  themselves." 

"Not  much!  It  paid  'em  a  heap  better  than 
their  claim  was  payin'.  I  washed  three  or  four 
pans  under  the  house  myself,  an'  the  gravel  was 
just  lousy  with  fine  gold." 

In  such  instructive  and  edifying  converse,  Mr. 
Wells  occupied  the  time  while  making  the  transit 
from  his  own  domicile  to  that  of  our  friend, 
Snively.  The  last  named  gentleman,  anticipating  no 
further  interruptions  for  the  day  had  thrown  off 
his  coat  and  boots  and  with  a  chair  thrown  back  so 
that  the  light  came  over  his  shoulders  (a  practice 
I  recommend  to  all  readers),  and  his  feet  planted 
high  on  the  wall  of  his  house,  was  perusing  (for 
the  fiftieth  time)  a  well  thumbed  copy  of  "Pen- 
knife Sketches."  The  click  of  the  gate  again  fell 
upon  his  ears,  but  thinking  it  was  only  the  children 
returning  with  a  lingering  hope  that  another  melon 
might  be  found,  he  kept  his  place,  and  a  smothered 
exclamation  of  "Drat  them  brats"  was  the  only 
token  he  gave  of  being  disturbed. 


MR.  SNIVELY  S  VACATION  271 

But,  when  in  response  to  some  query  of  the 
genial  Mr.  Wells,  the  voice  of  the  maiden  floated 
out  upon  the  heated  air,  Mr.  Snively  felt  that  he 
had  ueen  La'.en  at  a  disadvantage.  And  certainly, 
the  scene  of  a  six-footer  getting  his  hoofs  hurriedly 
down,  ?nd  into  the  improvised  slippers  which  a  pair 
of  stoggy  boots  cut  off  at  the  ankle  furnished,  was 
not  one  of  remarkable  beauty.  But  the  gentle 
Eliza  was  either  too  well  bred,  or  too  kind  of  heart 
to  appear  to  notice  his  confusion  and  by  the  time 
the  pair  reached  the  porch  he  was  entirely  at  ease. 

Mr.  Wells  pei  formed  the  ceremony  of  introduc- 
tion with  commendable  ease. 

"Bill,  this  is  my  sister,  Lizy." 

"Proud  to  see  you,  Miss  Lizy,  a  visitor  at  my 
humble  abode.  Take  the  rocking  cheer." 

Eliza  graciously  accepted  the  chair  which  Bill 
had  vacated.  "You  have  a  nice  little  place  here, 
Mr.  Snively,  quite  a  gem  in  this  waste  of  forest  and 


mountain." 


"Proud  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  I  do  think  it 
about  X.  You  see  I  have  not  lived  here  fifteen 
years  for  nothin'." 

"So  long  as  that  in  one  place?  Why,  I  thought 
you  Calif orry  men  were  all  great  rovers." 

"So  we  was,  until  we  larned  that  gadding  about 
didn't  pay.  But  I  think  F  11  take  a  little  turn  now 
if  I  can  make  things  come  right." 


272  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

uYou  contemplate  making  a  visit,  I  under- 
stand?" 

"Well,  maybe  that's  it.  You  see,  Miss,"  con- 
tinued Bill  in  an  explanatory  manner,  "I've  thort 
I  ort  to  take  a  vacation.  I've  got  the  bed-rock 
about  cut  up,  the  ditch  won't  need  no  cleanin'  till 
fall,  and  there  is  no  use  makin'  boxes  to  lengthen 
out  the  flume  till  we're  about  ready  to  use  'em.  I 
ain't  been  away  from  here  for  fifteen  years,  an'  I 
just  want  to  spludge  around  a  bit." 

"Where  you  goin'  an'  how  long  will  you  be 
gone?"  queried  Wells. 

"Coin'  to  see  my  old  pard,  Long  Jake.  He's 
down  in  one  of  the  Cow  Counties  by  the  Bay.  The 
cuss  got  married  arter  he  left  here  an'  writes  me 
about  his  place  an'  wants  me  to  come  down.  May- 
be I'll  get  enough  of  it  in  two  hours  an'  maybe  it'll 
take  a  month  or  two.  I  thort  I'd  ax  you  if  you 
could  look  out  for  the  place  a  little." 

"Oh,  sartin,  me  an'  the  young  'uns  will  do  fa- 
mous. I'll  take  the  cow  up  with  mine  an'  send 
Sandy  down  every  day  to  look  after  the  chickens." 

"An'  the  cat.  Must  give  Tom  plenty  of  milk 
an'  meat,  too.  I'd  feel  lost  if  anything  happened 
to  the  cat." 

"Yes,  an'  the  cat,  too.  Leave  the  key  with  ug 
an'  'Lizy  an'  the  girls  will  look  out  for  the  inside." 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  273 

To  this  proposed  arrangement  Mr.  Snively  gave 
an  unqualified  assent,  and  soon  the  group  took  its 
departure,  leaving  that  gentleman  at  liberty  to 
make  preparations  for  the  proposed  journey. 

"Well,  I  vum!" 

Precisely  what  Mr.  Snively  meant  by  this  ex- 
pression is  a  hard  matter  for  us  to  determine.  In 
my  best  judgment  formed  upon  the  fact  that  I  have 
heard  church  deacons,  and  others  of  presumed  god- 
liness use  the  expression,  "I  swow !"  where  a  com- 
mon sinner  would  have  said,  "I  swear !"  I  am  in- 
clined to  the  opinion  that  it  was  a  mild  form  of  pro- 
fanity which  our  friend  indulged  in,  but  that  is  only 
an  opinion,  and  it  may  be  an  incorrect  one.  Why 
Mr.  Snively  should  care  to  indulge  in  profanity  of 
any,  even  of  the  mildest  kind,  is  utterly  incompre- 
hensible to  me. 

Mr.  Snively  did  not  "vum,"  however,  until  the 
retreating  forms  of  his  late  visitors  disappeared 
from  view  behind  a  bunch  of  chapparal.  Then  he 
threw  himself  into  his  chair  again  with  the  excla- 
mation we  have  recorded,  and  it  was  not  many 
minutes  before  the  pipe  was  in  full  blast  again 
while  the  cat,  which  had  been  the  object  of  so  much 
solicitude  on  his  part,  had  jumped  upon  his  knee 
and  was  sending  forth  a  melodious  purr.  But,  for 
once,  the  efforts  of  his  prime  favorite  to  attract  at- 
tention were  fruitless.  Kitty  arched  his  back  and 


274  MR.  SNIVELY  S  VACATION 

elevated  his  tail  to  an  angle  of  about  ninety-four 
degrees,  but  Mr.  Snively  gave  only  a  mechanical 
stroke  or  two  down  Kitty's  back  and  fell  to  musing 
again. 

Having  made  use  of  the  phrase  "Cow  Coun- 
ties," it  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  say  that 
when  the  various  incidents  herein  so  truthfully  por- 
trayed were  enacted,  it  must  perforce  have  been 
anterior  to  the  day  when,  it  was  gravely  sought  in 
the  Legislature  of  California  to  add  a  new  section 
to  the  Penal  Code  of  the  State  by  which  hydraulic 
mining  was  declared  to  be  a  felony,  and  he  who 
should  thereafter  endeavor  to  earn  his  bread  by 
turning  the  nozzle  of  his  pipe  against  the  bank  be- 
came a  fit  associate  for  the  thieves  and  murderers 
whom  the  lawyers  delight  in  turning  out  upon  so-* 
ciety,  to  do  more  pillage  and  murder.  The  Golden 
State  had  not  yet  been  educated  up  to  the  belief 
that  the  industry  which  had  advanced  the  whole 
Pacific  Coast  at  least  a  century  in  the  line  of  prog- 
ress, was  one  to  be  throttled  by  the  very  ones  who 
had  most  profited  by  it.  The  "Cow  Counties"  were 
the  ones  to  which  the  steps  of  those  who  came 
here,  with  at  first  no  intention  of  remaining  after 
they  had  robbed  the  soil  of  a  sufficient  portion  of 
its  richness,  were  being  turned,  to  build  up  homes 
for  permanency,  where  they  and  their  household 
gods  could  repose  in  the  waning  years  of  life.  That 


MR.  SNIVELY  S  VACATION  275 

part  would  be  all  right  if  they  would  still  cherish 
a  kindly  feeling  toward  the  region  that  had  en- 
abled them  to  fulfill  this  cherished  desire,  but,  alas, 
when  they  became  denizens  of.  the  valley,  too, 
many  of  them  forgot  what  they  owed  to  the  moun- 
tains, and  they,  too,  joined  in  the  hue  and  cry 
which  said  that  mining  must  be  stopped. 

We  left  Mr.  Snively  thoughtfully  stroking  his 
cat  and  ruminating  upon  the  unexpected  interview 
which  had  just  terminated.  For,  although  Mr. 
Snively  was  not  a  very  impressionable  gentleman, 
we,  as  a  truthful  chronicler,  will  not  attempt  to 
deny  that  a  shadow  of  regret  came  into  his 
thoughts  that  he  was  going  away,  at  all.  While 
not  pretending  to  sound  the  depths  of  Mr.  Sniv- 
ely's  heart,  I  venture  the  opinion  that  if  he  had 
known  the  fact  that  Eliza  had  been  added  to  the 
Wells  habitation  before  he  committed  himself  to 
the  project  of  a  visit  to  Long  Jake,  he  might  have 
relegated  the  "Cow  Counties"  to  that  oblivion 
which  they  should  be  and  taken  his  vacation  as  he 
had  many  times  done  before,  in  fishing  and  kill- 
ing rattlesnakes  on  Gopher  Creek,  only  a  few  miles 
away.  Not  that  Mr.  Snively's  case  was  one  of  love 
at  first  sight,  by  any  means.  The  image  of  Lucy 
Jane,  albeit  she  sometimes  left  her  household  du- 
ties to  assist  her  Dutch  husband  in  the  preparation 
of  the  various  kinds  of  "worst"  which  embellished 


276  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

the  hooks  in  his  shop,  had  been  too  firmly  planted 
in  his  heart  to  be  thus  easily  dislodged.  Even  the 
uncontroverted  fact  that  Lucy  Jane  had  presented 
the  miserable  butcher  quite  a  number  of  pledges  of 
their  mutual  love  was  not  sufficient  to  drive  that 
image  out,  and  one  of  Mr.  Snively' s  enemies  (for 
all  good  men  have  enemies)  was  heard  to  say  that 
Snively  was  only  waiting  for  Fritz  to  kill  himself 
with  beer,  when  the  protestations  would  be  re- 
newed. But,  inasmuch  as  Fritz  grew  fatter  and 
more  jolly  with  the  increasing  libations  of  beer, 
Mr.  Snively's  friends,  while  not  doubting  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  passion  yet  believed  to  be  lingering  in 
his  heart  of  hearts,  treated  the  foul  insinuation 
with  the  contempt  it  certainly  deserved.  Knowing 
Snively  as  well  as  I  did  (for  we  had  wintered  to- 
gether on  Shirt-tail  Canyon  when  flour  was  two 
dollars  a  pound),  I  had  faith  in  him,  and  that 
faith  was  justified  by  future  events. 

Whatever  may  have  been  Mr.  Snively's 
thoughts,  there  was  no  vacillation  in  his  actions. 
With  the  morning's  dawn  he  had  prepared  his  fru- 
gal meal,  eaten  it  and  was  all  ready  to  leave  Per- 
simmon City  soon  as  Joe  Carver's  train  came  along 
with  an  extra  mule  saddled  for  his  especial  behoof. 
Yet  there  was  one  thing  undone — leaving  the  key 
of  his  house  with  old  Wells,  but  as  Wells  lived  on 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  277 

the  road  he  had  to  travel  that  was  of  but  little  mo- 
ment. 

"When  can  I  look  fer  yer  back,  Bill?"  inquired 
Wells,  as  he  pocketed  the  key. 

"Don't  know,  mebbe  one  month,  mebbe  two.  I 
been  cookin'  for  myself  now  for  goin'  on  twenty 
year.  If  Long  Jake's  wife  knows  how  to  cook 
p'raps  I'll  stay  till  it  begins  to  cloud  up." 

"Stay  long's  you  please.  Lizy  an'  me  an'  the 
kids  will  look  out  for  things." 

By  this  time  Joe  Carver  was  in  sight  and  after 
a  few  parting  words  the  two  cronies  separated. 

It  is  needless  for  me  to  say  that  all  of  Mr.  Sniv- 
ely's  injunctions  in  regard  to  the  cat  and  the  chick- 
ens were  carried  out  to  the  letter.  But  the  melon 
patch,  not  being  explored  with  that  knowledge 
drawn  from  experience,  was  the  bar  on  which  the 
youthful  Wellses  were  wrecked.  It  was  not  until 
two  of  them  came  near  being  victims  to  cholera 
morbus  that  Eliza,  seing  the  necessity  of  a  discern- 
ing mind  and  restraining  hand,  took  it  upon  herself 
to  accompany  all  expeditions  to  Mr.  Snively's  dom- 
icile and  superintended  proceedings  herself. 

It  happened  to  be  about  the  end  of  a  week  after 
Mr.  Snively's  departure  before  Aunt  Lizy  came 
to  this  conclusion  and  accordingly  repaired  to  the 
Snively  habitation  with  the  Wells  brood.  Her 
housewifely  ideas  were  hopelessly  wounded  as  the 


278  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

door  was  opened  and  she  stepped  inside.  In  the 
hurried  preparations  for  departure  Bill  had  neither 
washed  the  breakfast  dishes,  swept  the  floor  or 
made  his  bed,  aside  from  which  the  floor  was  lit- 
tered with  melon  seeds,  chicken  feed  and  the  tails 
and  bones  of  certain  ground  squirrels  which 
Thomas  had  captured  and  brought  into  the  house, 
the  better  to  enjoy.  To  think  was  to  act  with 
Eliza,  and  it  was  just  no  time  when  the  bed  was 
made  and  cabin  swept,  by  which  time  water  was 
heated  and  she  was  winding  up  with  the  breakfast 
dishes  of  more  than  a  week  before. 

All  this  is  very  prosaic.  Women,  since  civiliza- 
tion has  assumed  sway  are  expected  to  pass  their 
lives  in  one  continuous  round  of  sweeping,  bed- 
making,  cooking  and  washing  dishes.  The  sphere 
of  "lovely  woman"  in  Free  America  seems  to  be  to 
cook  and  wash  dishes.  Soon  as  the  dishes  used  at 
one  meal  are  cleansed  the  thrifty  housewife  must 
begin  preparing  something  to  dirty  them  again. 
This,  with  the  other  household  cares  of  sweeping, 
bed-making  and  attending  to  the  brats  constitute 
the  average  life  of  women,  and  no  wonder  some  of 
them  want  to  vote.  If  they  can  vote  the  dish  pan 
out  of  their  realm  I  don't  blame  them.  Why  don't 
they  do  like  we  did,  at  one  time.  The  plate  used 
for  Monday  morning's  breakfast  would  be  turned 
religiously  bottom  side  up  and  would  serve  well  for 


MR.  SNIVELY  S  VACATION  279 

dinner  and  supper,  when  it  would  be  ignominiously 
relegated  to  the  domain  of  dirty  dishes.  Tuesday 
morning  a  fresh  plate  would  do  like  duty  and  so 
throughout  the  week,  and  on  Sunday  morning, 
armed  with  half  a  flour  sack  fastened  by  a  nail  to 
the  end  of  a  pine  stick  for  a  dish  rag,  and  a  whole 
flour  sack  for  a  wiping  cloth,  Bill  would  tackle  the 
dishes.  There  were  some  aristocrats  who  washed 
dishes  at  every  meal  or  at  the  end  of  each  day,  any- 
how, but  they  were  the  exception  and  not  the  rule. 

We  have  said  this  is  all  prosaic.  So  it  is,  but  being 
facts,  in  view  of  what  follows  hereafter  they  must 
be  duly  chronicled,  so  we  resume  at  the  point  of  our 
narrative  where  Eliza  had  got  at  work  washing  the 
breakfast  dishes.  There  not  being  many  of  them 
the  task  was  nearly  over  when  the  door  opened 
and  in  stalked  Mr.  Snively. 

uLawk  a  mercy!  Mr.  Snively,"  screamed  the 
maiden,  dropping  the  plate  in  hand  in  her  surprise. 
"Who  on  airth  would  have  looked  for  you  now? 
I  declare  to  goodness  you  have  nearly  scared  me 
out  of  my  wits.  Well,  well,  well !" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  there  was  much  to  be 
skeered  about.  But  what  on  arth  were  you  fixin' 
things  up  now  for?" 

"Time  enough,  you  would  say,  if  you  had  seen 
how  things  looked  when  I  came  over  today  for  the 
fust  time.  A  pretty  mess  the  children  had  made 


280  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

of  this  room.  That  reminds  one  that  they  are  about 
somewhere,  and  the  sooner  I  get  them  together  the 
better."  She  opened  the  door  and  called:  "You 
children,  come.  It's  time  for  us  to  go." 

The  children,  who  had  divided  into  bands,  one 
of  which  was  exploring  the  melon  patch  in  the  hope 
that  there  might  be  a  half-ripe  one  left,  while  the 
other  had  begun  a  vigorous  assault  on  the  black- 
berries, soon  came  trooping  in. 

Being  thus  relieved  of  any  chance  for  a  reflection 
being  cast  upon  her  good  name  by  reason  of  her 
enforced  company  with  the  solitary  Mr.  Snively, 
Eliza  felt  the  duties  of  hospitality  to  become  para- 
mount, so  when  rising  to  take  her  departure  she 
turned  to  Bill,  "You  must  be  tired,  Mr.  Snively, 
and  there  is  nothing  cooked  in  the  house.  I  trust 
you  will  come  over  and  take  supper  with  Jehiel 
and  I." 

"Thankee,  marm;  but  I'm  plumb  tired  out.  I 
thought  I'd  find  Jim's  pack  train  at  the  stage  house 
but  it  had  gone  over  yesterday,  so  I  just  took  my 
bundle  and  walked  over,  like  them  fellers  they  call 
carpet-baggers  down  South.  I  want  a  rest,  and  as 
for  supper,  I've  got  some  crackers  and  oysters  here 
that'll  fix  me  out  in  good  style." 

At  the  mention  of  "oysters"  young  Simon  turned 
pale  as  a  ghost  and  the  others  edged  toward  the 
door.  These  movements  were  not  lost  on  Eliza, 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  281 

who,  albeit  a  single  female,  was  better  versed  in  the 
wiles  of  the  kids  than  was  the  guileless  Snively.  So, 
as  a  parting  salute,  she  again  extended  a  welcome 
to  the  supper  table,  and  the  further  assurance  that 
she  would  "set  a  plate  for  him,  for  she  knew  that 
when  rested  he  would  be  fearfully  hungry." 

"Well,  I  vum!"  growled  Bill,  as  the  last  of  the 
retreating  forms  disappeared  through  the  gate.  As 
we  have  already  given  a  disquisition  upon  the  verb 
active  "vum,"  we  have  no  space  for  further  re- 
marks except  that  it  be  to  say  that  Mr.  Snively  was 
only  known  to  "vum"  when  much  excited,  or  much 
surprised. 

When  the  Snively  cabin  was  freed  from  the  res- 
traint imposed  upon  it  by  the  presence  of  the  divine 
Eliza,  its  occupant  threw  himself  upon  the  newly- 
made  bed  and  was  soon  in  the  enjoyment  of  that 
restive  feeling  which  comes  to  the  average  man 
after  a  long  and  weary  tramp.  This  continued 
until  the  darkening  shadows  admonished  him  that 
as  he  was  possessed  of  a  stomach  which  had  taken 
in  no  sustenance  since  he  had  taken  an  improvised 
lunch  with  China  Jim,  and  had  walked  eighteen 
miles  since,  Mr.  Snively  realized  that  a  supper  of 
canned  oysters  taken  just  before  going  to  bed  would 
probably  yield  a  goodly  crop  of  bad  dreams  before 
morning,  and  wisely  determined  to  have  supper  at 
once.  A  few  sticks  of  wood  placed  upon  the  em- 


282  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

bers  of  the  fire  Eliza  had  utilized  for  heating  the 
dish-water  soon  leaped  into  a  flame  and  with 
lighted  candle  he  explored  his  pantry  in  search  of 
the  coveted  oysters. 

Horror  of  horrors !  not  a  can  of  the  luscious  bi- 
valves could  be  found.  Of  the  half  dozen  cans  he 
had  left  upon  the  shelf,  every  one  had  disappeared. 

"It's  them  dratted  Wells  boys/'  said  Mr.  Snively 
when  the  situation  dawned  upon  him.  "If  I'd 
a  thought  old  Wells  would  have  no  more  sense  than 
to  send  them  covies  over  here  to  look  out  for  things, 
he'd  never  got  that  key,  gol  darn  him!  What  in 
thunder  will  I  do  for  supper,  now?" 

As  we  have  already  foreseen,  there  was  nothing 
for  the  old  codger  to  do  except  to  go  over  to 
Wells's  and  see  if  that  "plate  had  been  kept  for 
him."  It  had,  and  although  more  than  an  hour 
had  passed  since  Eliza  wended  her  way  homeward, 
the  evening  meal  was  just  being  put  on  the  table. 
Perhaps  the  fact  that  Eliza  knew  something  of  the 
inner  consciousness  of  man's  nature,  and  therefore 
caused  a  couple  of  spring  chickens  to  be  sacrificed 
had  something  to  do  with  the  delay. 

"Just  in  time,  Bill,"  greeted  Jehiel.  "We  felt 
sure  you'd  come.  Now  sit  down  and  no  talk  until 
we  get  rid  of  this." 

The  command  was  duly  obeyed  and  it  was  not 
till  a  goodly  pile  of  bones  lay  beside  his  plate  that 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  283 

Snively  felt  he  had  done  his  whole  duty  as  a  man. 
Although  Jehiel's  appetite  had  not  been  sharpened 
as  Mr.  Snively's  had,  he  stood  manfully  up  to  the 
trencher,  and  it  was  not  until  he  could  store  away 
no  more  that  he  gave  in.  It  was  quite  evident  from 
his  actions  that  a  chicken  supper  had  not  an  every 
day  assurance  with  him. 

"Now,  Bill,  tell  us  about  your  trip.  Jake  all 
right?" 

"All  right  as  far  as  a  feller  full  of  fever'n  ager 
can  be,"  growled  Bill. 

"Fever  an'  ager!  An'  they've  got  that  where 
Jake  lives,  too?" 

"Got  it  everywhere  along  there.  Jake  an'  his 
wife,  an'  her  sister  all  look  yaller  as  brass  an'  thin 
as  walkin'  skeletons.  The  young  ones  look  better, 
but  still  they  keep  blue  mass  an'  quinine  in  the  house 
for  'em  like  they  did  catnip  and  squills  in  our  fam- 
ily. Then  they  have  muskeeters  all  the  year  round, 
gnats  in  their  season  an'  such  weather!" 

"Then  you  didn't  have  a  very  pleasant  time,  Mr. 
Snively.  It's  a  wonder  you  didn't  think  of  bringing 
Mrs.  Jake's  sister  to  your  own  delightful  climate." 

Traces  of  deep-seated  anguish  appeared  upon 
Snively's  brow.  Here,  within  the  ten  days  past  he 
has  stamped  the  image  of  Lucy  Jane  out  of  his 
heart,  and  if  he  had  ever  cherished  any  thoughts  of 
succeeding  to  the  Dutch  butcher  when  that  person- 


284  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

age  should  go  the  way  of  all  butchers  (Dutch  or 
otherwise),  dismissed  them  from  his  mind,  for  her, 
above  all  people  in  the  world  to  intimate  the  pos- 
sibility of  his  bringing  in  a  successor  to  Lucy  Jane, 
was  terrible.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  reply, 
but  cut  tobacco  in  silence.  When  that  job  was  com- 
pleted he  and  Jehiel  passed  out  to  the  porch,  where 
they  solaced  themselves  to  the  fullest  extent. 

As  this  history  only  deals  with  facts,  we  will  state 
right  here  that  the  first  sight  of  the  amiable  Eliza 
had  done  more  to  drive  away  any  and  all  day- 
dreams which  Mr.  Snively  had  indulged  in  regard- 
ing Lucy  Jane  than  had  all  the  events  of  all  the 
years  since  the  Dutch  butcher  had  borne  off  the 
prize.  Furthermore,  his  change  of  thought  was 
intensified  by  the  recollection  of  the  form  of  Eliza 
as  she  appeared  to  his  vision  when  he  came  unex- 
pectedly upon  her  and  found  her  engaged  in  wash- 
ing the  dishes  at  his  domicile.  He  felt  that  wash- 
ing dishes  was  an  utterly  unmanly  occupation,  a 
thought  which  had  never  before  invaded  his  mind. 
No  wonder  that  Eliza's  query  about  Long  Jake's 
sister-in-law  caused  him  untold  mental  agony. 
Without  deigning  a  reply,  he  arose  and  stalked  out 
to  the  porch,  where  he  and  Jehiel  soon  sought 
solace  in  their  pipes. 

Mr.  Snively  was  too  tired  to  think  when  he  re- 
turned to  his  cabin  that  night,  and  throwing  him- 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  285 

self  into  bed  he  speedily  became  oblivious  of  all 
mundane  affairs.  But  when  he  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing, saw  the  cabin  as  nicely  swept  as  he  had  ever 
kept  it,  looked  at  the  array  of  clean  dishes  on  the 
table  which  Eliza's  maiden  modesty  would  not  per- 
mit her  in  his  solitary  presence  to  remove,  and  felt 
how  comfortable  a  night  he  had  passed  in  the  bed 
made  by  better  skilled  hands  than  he  could  hope  his 
ever  to  become,  he  resolved  to  once  more  try  his 
chances  with  womankind.  Certain  crude  ideas  that 
flitted  across  his  brain  that  it  was  the  duty  of  every 
man  who  could  to  support  a  woman,  led  him  to 
think  that  it  was  a  sense  of  duty  toward  the  sex 
which  impelled  him  onward — but  I  know  better. 
Men — and  women,  too, — are  selfish.  I  am  get- 
ting cynical  in  my  old  days,  and  having  been 
"nipped"  a  few  score,  or  hundred,  of  times,  begin  to 
question  the  motives  of  any  one  who  proposes  some- 
thing to  my  advantage.  I  begin  to  look  and  see 
where  it  will  be  to  his  or  her  advantage,  too,  and 
find  that  the  other  side  would  generally  get  the  best 
end  of  the  bargain. 

However,  moralizing  will  not  bring  the  story  of 
Snively's  love  and  wooing  to  a  conclusion.  As  a 
preliminary  to  any  overtures  he  might  essay  to 
make,  he  felt  that  the  inner  man  must  first  be  ap- 
peased. His  sour  dough  was,  of  course,  spoiled; 
but  he  could  probably  get  a  starter  for  more  from 


286  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

Doc.  Stumple,  who,  like  himself,  used  that  kind  of 
yeast,  and  looked  with  scorn  upon  the  "salt  emp- 
tins"  and  "hop  raisens"  which  the  women  folk 
used.  As  Mr.  Snively  had  not  yet  broken  his  fast, 
and  had  nothing  to  break  it  on  except  crackers  and 
coffee,  he  hied  at  once  in  search  of  what  was  needed. 
A  box  of  yeast  powders,  for  present  use,  some 
stale  meat  from  the  Dutch  butcher  (who  since  the 
camp  had  gone  down  only  killed  twice  a  week) , 
and  some  butter  sufficed  for  the  morning  meal,  and 
Mr.  Snively  again  lighting  his  pipe  began  to  lay  out 
a  plan  of  siege  for  the  affections  of  Eliza. 

We  have  elsewhere  written  that  true  love,  like 
true  merit,  is  always  modest.  Hence,  it  may  easily 
be  inferred  that  Mr.  Snively's  suit  did  not  prosper 
to  that  estimable  gentleman's  satisfaction.  Snively 
put  on  his  best  clothes  and  walked  over  to  Jehiel's 
again  and  again,  but  always  came  away  with  the 
decisive  words  unspoken.  And  it  might  have  been 
that  this  history  would  have  remained  forever  un- 
written but  for  some  words  dropped  by  Simon,  the 
youth  who  had  disposed  of  most  of  the  oysters  in 
Bill's  absence;  who  one  evening,  after  he  had  taken 
a  second  supper  with  Bill  volunteered  the  informa- 
tion that  "Aunt  Lizy  was  goin'  away  next  Mon- 
day." 

"What  for?"  asked  Snively,  almost  jumping 
from  his  seat  in  surprise. 


MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION  287 

"Cos  mother's  comin'  back,  an'  then  Lizy  is 
goinV 

Mr.  Snively  felt  that  the  moment  for  action 
could  not  be  much  longer  postponed.  It  was  not 
until  the  following  Sunday,  however,  that  he 
summed  up  courage  to  ask  Eliza  out  to  walk. 
Often  was  the  question  on  his  lips,  and  as  often 
would  the  remembrance  of  the  snub  he  had  received 
from  Lucy  Jane  many  years  before,  come  up  and 
crowd  it  back.  It  was  not  until  they  were  on  their 
return  that  he  spoke.  They  were  then  passing  Bill's 
own  house. 

"That's  a  nice  piece  of  garden  land,  ain't  it,  Miss 
Wells?" 

"Very;  you  ought  to  raise  all  the  garden  sass  you 
need." 

"It  will  raise  enough  for  two,  easy.  What  do 
you  think  of  that  house?" 

"'Tain't  much,"  said  Eliza  scornfully.  "I  guess 
it  will  do  well  enough  for  you  though." 

"But  if  I  tore  down  the  woodshed  and  put  on  an 
addition  of  three  or  four  rooms,  would  it  be  big 
enough  for  two?" 

"I  think  it  would,"  said  Eliza,  demurely. 

"An'  oh,  'Liza,  will  you  be  one  of  the  two?" 

There  are  some  situations  too  sacred  to  be  in- 
truded upon.  What  reply  was  made  by  Eliza  can 
only  be  inferred.  The  loving  couple  hooked  arms 


288  MR.  SNIVELY'S  VACATION 

and  proceeded  in  silence  to  the  Wells  residence. 
But  Bill  was  too  bashful  to  go  in  and  they  parted  on 
the  porch.  Before  the  retreating  form  of  Bill 
passed  out  of  the  gate  young  Simon  was  in  at  the 
back  door. 

"Oh,  pop,  what  do  you  think  I  seed.  Old  Bill 
Snively  a  kissing  our  Lizy  out  on  the  porch." 

"What's  this,  Lizy?"  asked  Jehiel,  of  that  lady, 
who  just  then  entered.  "Can't  you  and  Bill  Snively 
part  without  a  farewell  kiss?" 

"He's  got  a  right  now  to  kiss  me,  sir,"  said 
Eliza. 

"Bully  for  you,  Lizy;  that  little  yarn  I  made  up 
an'  got  Simon  to  tell  him  about  your  goin'  away 
brought  him  to  taw.  An'  it  needed  somethin'  of 
that  kind  to  do  it." 


THE  STORY   HE   TOLD   THE 
PROSPECTORS 

"What  I'm  going  to  tell  you  fellers,  now,"  said 
Smith  to  a  couple  of  quartz  prospectors,  who  had 
stopped  at  his  cabin  for  several  days  while  tracing 
up  some  "float,"  "happened  more'n  thirty  years 
ago.  I  was  pretty  hostile  about  it  at  the  time  and 
felt  like  punching  Ned  Thompson's  head,  but  I 
soon  got  over  it  an'  made  up  my  mind  that  it  had 
turned  out  the  best  for  me.  And  "  (here  he  looked 
dolefully  at  the  furnishings  of  his  cabin),  "the 
longer  I  live  the  more  I  think  so. 

"Ned  Thompson  went  away  from  these  parts  to 
one  of  the  cow  counties  eighteen  years  ago.  Thar 
was  five  young^  uns  then,  and  I've  heard  there's  five 
more  since  then.  What  I  could  have  done  with 
such  a  lot  after  the  claim  on  Coon  Point  petered 
out  on  us,  as  the  lawyers  say,  'deponent  sayeth  not.' 
I  hadn't  thought  of  it  for  years,  but  there's  so  much 
in  the  newspapers  now  about  the  'new  woman,' 
what  she  will  do  and  how  she  will  do  it,  that  I 
kinder  got  to  thinking  how  one  of  the  old  style  of 
women  did  once,  and  so  I'll  have  to  unburden 
my  mind  and  tell  it. 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 


"As  I  told,  or  rather  hinted,  I  was  minin'  at  the 
time  on  Coon  Point.  Jo  Lyons  was  my  pard,  and 
a  mighty  good  pard  he  was,  too.  I'd  go  into  a 
claim  with  him  tomorrow,  if  he  was  here,  but  Jo 
passed  in  his  checks  ten  years  ago,  an'  I  trust  an' 
believe,  he  is  in  that  city  with  golden  streets,  where 
there's  no  need  of  minin'.  We  had  two  claims  — 
Jo  represented  us  in  one,  I  in  the  the  other.  The 
claims  were  about  two  miles  apart,  so  it  sometimes 
happened  that  Jo  an'  I  didn't  see  each  other  for  a 
fortnight  or  three  weeks  at  a  time.  Don't  get  tired, 
because  I  am  so  long-winded  —  I  want  you  to  un- 
derstand the  thing  as  it  went  along.  Sometimes  Jo 
would  come  up,  then  sometimes  I'd  go  down,  but 
generally  we  would  come  together  Sunday  at  Glea- 
son's  store  near  the  forks  below  here.  There's  no 
store  at  The  Forks  now  —  the  last  proprietor  gave 
too  much  credit  an'  busted  out,  but  in  those  days 
there  was  quite  a  settlement  at  The  Forks.  There 
was  a  store  an'  blacksmith,  an'  butcher  shop,  an' 
a  sort  of  hotel,  where  you  could  get  bacon  and 
beans  twenty-one  times  a  week,  an'  other  fixin's. 
A  feller  named  McLeman  kept  the  hotel.  I  don't 
know  as  he  was  the  laziest  man  I  ever  saw,  but  I 
think  he  was,  an'  it  was  a  fact  that  in  them  days 
that  when  some  lazy  coot  had  a  wife  he'd  quit 
minin'  an'  keep  a  hotel.  Then  the  woman  would 
do  the  cookin'  and  he'd  tend  bar  (for  there  had  to 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS     29  I 

be  a  bar),  an'  what  money  they  made  he'd  gen- 
'rally  lost  at  poker  or  loo,  for  there  was  always  a 
card-sharp  boardin'  at  the  hotel,  waitin'  to  catch 
the  landlord.  McLeman  had  married  a  widow 
and  she  had  a  gal  about  fifteen  years  old.  Well, 
one  Sunday  afternoon  I  was  home.  Had  been  down 
to  the  store,  heard  that  Jo  had  been  down  some- 
time in  the  week  an'  got  a  lot  of  grub  packed  to 
his  house.  I  knew  then  there  was  no  division  of 
dust  from  the  claim  Jo  was  working  and  only  won- 
dered why  he  had  not  waited  until  I  come,  to  see 
if  I  had  any  for  him.  But  we  were  pards,  and  I 
tell  you,  boys,  pards  had  to  trust,  and  did  trust, 
each  other  in  those  days.  Sometimes  pards  would 
be  men  that  never  seed  each  other  till  they  got 
working  a  piece  of  ground  together,  but  they 
trusted  each  other,  and  was  gen'rally  right,  though 
there  were  some  fellers  what  would  steal  from 
themselves,  doggone  'em !  Well,  it  was  pretty  near 
night  when  here  comes  Jo.  He  had  his  hair  cut 
and  was  rigged  out  in  a  bran-new  suit  of  store 
clothes,  and  I  hardly  knew  him.  He  sot  down  an' 
we  talked  about  the  diggin's  for  a  while,  an'  then 
about  a  lawsuit  some  of  the  boys  were  going  to 
have  about  water,  an'  then  I  couldn't  think  of  any- 
thing else,  an'  Jo  didn't,  either,  so  we  sot  thar  and 
smoked.  Then  all  at  once  he  breaks  out  like  a  vol- 
cano. 


292     THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 

"Sam,"  he  says.  "I  want  you  to  be  on  hand, 
Wednesday." 

"On  hand  for  what?"  says  I. 

"I  want  you  to  be  my  best  man,  then." 

"All  right,  Jo,"  says  I,  "weVe  stood  in  together 
more'n  once,  an*  I'll  be  with  you  agin.  I'll  ile  up 
my  pistol,  an'  we'll  stan'  'em  off." 

"Sho,"  he  says,  "you  don't  need  any  pistol. 
Thar  ain't  any  fighting  to  be  did,  as  I  know  of." 

"Then,  Jo,  I'm  off  my  nut  a  little,  I  guess.  Don't 
you  mean  that  you  want  me  to  stick  by  you  in  some 
trouble,  same  as  you  did  by  me  an'  Posey  when  we 
had  that  row  with  the  North  Carolina  crowd?" 

"Not  a  bit,  Sam.  I  always  knew  you  was  a  good 
friend,  and  I  want  you  to  be  my  best  man  when  I 
get  married." 

"It  took  my  breath  away  to  hear  him  talk.  At 
last  I  says:  'You  get  married?  Git!' 

"There's  no  git  about  it,"  says  Jo. 

"None  of  your  April-fool  tricks  at  this  time  of 
the  year,  Jo,  if  you  please.  They're  out  of  sea- 
son!" For  Jo  had  played  me  a  consarned  sharp 
one  the  year  before,  and  I  had  felt  a  little  sore 
over  it. 

"It's  nothing  of  the  kind,  Sam,"  he  persisted. 
"I  am  goin'  to  get  married  and  need  your  help  a 
bit." 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS     293 

"Well,  Jo,"  says  I,  "I  am  bound  to  b'lieve  you. 
Now  who  is  the  happy  lady?" 

"I  don't  know  yet  how  happy  she'll  be,  but  it's 
Susan." 

"Susan!"  says  I,  jumping  up.  "You're  mor'n 
twice  as  old." 

"That's  so.  She's  fifteen  an'  I'm  thirty-five. 
That's  mor'n  twice,  but  when  she's  thirty  I'll  be 
fifty,  a  good  deal  less  than  twice.  An'  if  we  live 
till  she's  sixty  I'll  be  eighty.  She'll  then  be  three- 
quarters  as  old  as  I." 

"Good  arithmetic,  Jo,"  says  I.  "Have  you 
figured  out  how  long  it  will  be  till  she  gets  to  be  the 
oldest?" 

"Naw !"  says  Jo,  "no  call  for  that.  But  will  you 
stand  in  with  me?" 

"Sartin,  Jo,  sartin.  But  I'm  chock  full  of  curi- 
osity to  know  how  you  ever  spunked  up  courage 
enough  to  ax  a  young  gal  like  Susan  to  marry  you." 

"Sam,  the  fact  is  she  axed  me." 

"Axed  you?" 

"That's  what  she  did.  Here's  her  letter  to  me." 
An'  Jo  took  it  out  of  his  vest  pocket  an'  handed  me. 
"Stop  a  minit,  an'  I'll  read  it  to  you.  Maybe  you 
boys  will  wonder  why  I  got  this  letter  an'  kept  it, 
but  you'll  larn  afore  I  git  through."  And  Mr. 
Smith  opened  an  old  desk  and  produced  a  faded 


294     THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 

letter  which  he  read  to  the  prospectors.    It  ran  this 
way: 

Do  not  think  strangely  of  me  at  what  I  am  writing.  My 
stepfather  makes  my  home  so  uncomfortable  for  me  that  I 
want  a  home,  shared  only  with  one  who  will  love  me.  You 
can  build  up  such  a  home,  which  will  be  a  paradise  on  earth 
to  me.  It  is  leap  year,  or  I  would  not  dare  address  you  as  I  do. 

If  you  consider  my  proposal  favorably,  consider  yourself 
invited  to  be  my  partner  at  the  Leap  Year  ball,  at  Logtown. 
Of  course,  I  cannot  come  to  take  you  there,  but  if  you  will 
have  a  rig  at  our  house  a  little  before  dark,  I  will  leave,  never, 
never  to  return.  If  you  cannot  come  yourself,  send  some  one 
you  can  trust  and  we  will  meet  at  Logtown,  when  my  happi- 
ness, and,  I  trust,  yours  will  be  assured. 

SUSAN. 

"That's  pretty  straightfor'ard,  Jo,"  says  I. 
"Now  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Sam.  I've  got  a  couple  of 
hosses,  an'  Watkin  has  promised  me  his  wife's  side- 
saddle. I  want  you  to  git  the  gal  and  take  her  to 
Dogtown.  I'll  be  thar  and  have  the  Squire  right 
on  hand  quick  as  you  git  thar.  Then,  I  suppose 
she'll  have  some  fool  notions  about  havin'  some- 
body to  'stand  up'  with  us;  if  she  does  you'll  be  the 
feller.  Then  we'll  all  go  to  the  Leap  Year  ball.  I 
want  it  all  over  quick,  'cause  if  old  Me  got  it  into 
his  head  he'd  shoot.  I  wouldn't  mind  that  much, 
only  I  don't  want  any  shootin'  in  the  family." 

"Of  course  I  agreed  to  go,  and  at  sundown  I 
hitched  the  hosses  to  a  couple  of  trees  and  went  to 
Old  Mc's  place.  They  had  just  done  supper,  ex- 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS     295 

cept  one  or  two  fellers  of  that  kind  that  is  always 
behind. 

"Old  Me  was  as  full  as  a  tick  that  had  been  on 
a  dog's  neck  for  a  month.  I  know  the  old  codger 
fust  rate;  many  were  the  games  of  euchre  I  played 
with  him  for  the  drinks.  When  Susan  saw  me  she 
said  somethin'  to  her  mother  an'  went  off.  It 
didn't  take  a  gal  three  hours  to  dress  in  them  days, 
and  pretty  soon  she  came  back  all  rigged  to  go, 
with  some  of  her  duds  in  a  little  satchel.  Old  Me 
had  been  tryin'  to  get  me  to  play  euchre,  but,  of 
course,  I  didn't  bite  an'  as  quick  as  I  got  away  from 
him  I  followed  Susan.  As  luck  would  have  it  the 
old  scoundrel  followed  me  an'  just  as  I  was  open- 
ing the  side  door  to  go  out,  in  he  came. 

"What's  this,  Suke?"  (You  see,  in  those  days 
we  didn't  have  any  Susies,  or  Mamies,  or  Netties, 
or  any  of  that  kind  of  names  the  gals  all  have  now- 
adays. What  is  now  Lizzie  was  called  Poll  or 
Polly.  Mary  was  Moll  and  Susan  was  Suke.  If 
you  wanted  to  and  was  on  good  terms  enough  you 
could  call  'em  Sukey  or  Molly,  spelt  with  a  y,  too, 
all  the  time,  too,  and  don't  you  forget  it. ) 

"Whar  you  goin'  in  that  rig,  at  this  time  of 
night?"  b®£s££eitt 

"I've  asked  this  gentleman  to  be  my  partner  to 
the  Leap  Year  ball." 


296     THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 

"Well,  this  gentleman  can  go  to  the  Leap  Year 
ball  without  your  escort,  or  not  at  all.  A  fine  thing 
for  a  gal  of  your  age  goin'  to  a  ball,  without  your 
mother  is  with  you.  We  had  enough  of  that  when 
you  went  to  Grimshaw's  dance  with  that  bullet- 
headed  Thompson.  Go  an'  get  them  traps  off  an* 
help  your  mother  with  her  work." 

"But,  pap,  I  asked  this  gentleman  to  go,  like  all 
the  other  gals  are  doin'  and  I  hate  to  disappoint 
him.  Didn't  I  ?"  turning  to  me. 

"In  strict  truth  she  had  not,  but  it  would  not  do 
to  contradict,  so  I  answered  and  lied  like  a  gentle- 
man should.  'Yes,  sir;  I  am  here  in  consequence 
of  this  lady's  invitation.' 

"Then  you  can  get  out  of  here  on  my  invitation. 
There's  the  door;  mosey  along." 

"I  moseyed.  It  was  not  a  very  graceful  thing  to 
do,  but  the  old  fellow  had  the  say  on  me.  As  I 
stepped  out  of  the  side  door  and  slammed  it  after 
me,  Susan  slipped  out  through  the  barroom  and  got 
a  chance  to  whisper  to  me  to  'wait  for  her  awhile 
at  the  forked  spruce.'  Just  then  Old  Me  came 
out  and  she  said  loud  enough  to  be  heard  forty 
feet:  'Good  night,  Mr.  Lyons;  sorry  to  have  to 
disappoint  you.' 

"I  took  leave  of  Susan  as  if  I  wouldn't  see  her 
for  the  next  ten  year.  I  untied  my  horse  and  rode 
down  the  creek  a  ways  till  I  was  out  of  sight,  then 


"Then  you  can   get  out  of  here  on  my  invitation, 
the  door;  mosey  along."      (See  page  296.) 


There's 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS     297 

took  a  trail  I  knew  and  was  soon  at  the  forked 
spruce.  An1  I  hadn't  been  there  ten  minutes  when 
she  came. 

"Did  you  have  any  trouble  after  I  left?"  I  asked 
her. 

"Not  a  bit.  He  went  in  an*  took  another  drink 
an'  sat  down  in  the  chair  and  was  snoozin'  in  no 
time.  Now,  if  you  please,  we'll  mount  an'  be  off." 

"We  mounted  an'  we  clattered  away  to  Logtown 
in  short  order.  When  we  got  in  town  the  hotel 
was  all  lit  up.  I  handed  her  into  the  parlor  an' 
told  her  I  would  hurry  up  Jo  an'  the  Squire. 

"Jo  was  on  watch,  however,  an'  I  met  them  right 
outside.  We  went  into  the  sittin'  room  where 
Susan  was  alone,  all  the  rest  having  gone  to  the 
hall,  upstairs,  Jo  shook  hands  with  her  an'  intro- 
duced the  Squire. 

"I  suppose  we  might  as  well  get  through  with 
the  business  at  once,"  said  Jo.  "Do  you  want  one 
of  your  lady  friends  to  be  present?"  but  she  shook 
her  head. 

"Please  take  hold  of  your  right  hands,"  said  the 
Squire.  Jo  reached  for  Susan's,  but  she  jerked  it 
away. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  says  Jo,  in  a  huff. 

"Arter  we're  here  'cordin'  to  agreement,  are  you 
goin'  to  back  out?" 

"You  ain't  the  man!"  says  Susan. 


298  THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 

"I  ain't  the  man !  then  who  the  dickens  is?" 

"She  pointed  to  me.  You  bet  Jo  was  on  the  war- 
path when  she  did  that.  Til  settle  this  with  you 
tomorrow  or  right  now,  if  you  say  so/  says  Jo, 
'but  I  didn't  think  it  of  you,  Sam ;  I  trusted  you  in 
this  matter,  an'  never  thought  you  would  take  the 
girl  away  from  me  for  yourself.' 

"No  more  I  didn't,  Jo." 

"That  I  can  answer  for,"  said  Susan,  "we  never 
talked  a  word  about  it.  We  was  in  too  big  a  hurry 
to  get  here." 

"Ya'as,"  says  Jo.  "Of  course  you  will  lie  for 
each  other.  Maybe  you  will  deny  havin'  writ  this." 
An'  Jo  pulls  out  the  letter. 

"I  writ  it  fast  enough,  but  you  see  I  sent  it  to 
Mr.  Lyons." 

"An'  who  the  dickens  am  I  if  not  Mr.  Lyons?" 

"Oh,  I  see,  I  made  a  sad  mistake.  I  wouldn't  a 
had  this  happen  for  the  world.  I  thought  this  was 
Mr.  Lyons." 

"If  that's  the  case  I've  nothing  more  to  say. 
Sam,  if  this  letter  was  intended  for  you,  you  take 
an'  keep  it.  But  I  don't  believe  it,  not  much,"  An' 
Jo  bolted  for  the  door. 

"Well,  here  was  a  pretty  fix  for  me.  Come  to  be 
the  'best  man'  an'  if  there  was  a  best  man  needed 
I  would  be  the  chap  that  would  want  him.  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do  or  say,  so  I  sot  there  like 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS     299 

a  knot  on  a  log  an'  waited  for  things  to  take  their 
own  course. 

"Pretty  soon  they  began  to  do  it.  'I  am  very 
much  grieved  that  this  matter  has  turned  out  the 
way  it  has,  Mr.  Smith,  but  I  really  did  think  you 
were  Mr.  Lyons.' 

"Why,  how  in  the  world  did  you  get  that  no- 
tion?" 

"Why,  you  an'  he  et  dinner  one  Sunday  at  our 
house  an'  I  asked  pap  who  you  two  were.  An'  he 
told  me  you  were  pards  and  had  good  claims  up  the 
Gulch,  a  couple  of  miles,  an'  then  told  me  your 
names.  An'  I  asked  him  which  was  which  an'  he 
told  me,  but  either  he  or  I  got  the  names  mixed — 
I  disremember  now  how  it  was.  An'  you  know  I 
never  was  introduced  to  you,  though  we  always 
spoke." 

"I  remember,  an'  I  remember  you  called  me 
Lyons  onct  last  night.  But  I  thought  it  was  only 
a  mistake,  'cos  you  was  thinkin'  of  him." 

"I  felt  orful  awkid,  I  can  tell  you,  but  the  gal  had 
a  deal  more  sense  than  I,  an'  after  we  sot  there  a 
few  minutes  she  says  to  me,  'Now  go  an'  git  ready, 
for  you  know  I  have  to  take  you  to  the  dance. 
You'll  be  fined  if  you  go  in  alone.  We'll  talk  the 
other  matter  over  tomorrow.' 


3OO  THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 

"Well,  it's  'kinder  onexpected,'  as  you  ladies  are 
always  said  to  say,  but  won't  Old  Me  be  after  you 
tomorrow?" 

"Not  he;  I  know  him  too  well.  He'll  be  after 
another  jag,  an'  if  he  did  come  here  he  dasn't 
bother  me.  Now  get  ready,  for  I  hear  the  fiddles 
goin'." 

"It  didn't  take  me  long  to  get  ready,  an*  I  was 
back  in  five  minits.  The  Squire  was  gone  an'  Susan 
was  there  alone.  She  took  my  arm,  and  as  we 
started  upstairs  she  stopped  me  a  little  an'  said. 
'This  thing  has  turned  out  so  different  from  what 
I  cal'lated  that  I'm  all  upsot  and  feel  narvy.  We'll 
dance  the  first  chance  we  get  an'  then  I'll  go  an* 
rest  for  I'm  plumb  gin  out.  I'll  speak  to  Bet  Hally 
to  take  you  to  supper,  if  I  ain't  there.' 

"I  couldn't  say  anything  agin  this,  it  seemed  so 
reasonable.  When  we  got  to  the  door  of  the  room 
where  the  dancing  was  going  on  there  was  a  vine- 
gar-faced woman  taking  tickets.  I  was  getting  out 
my  purse  to  pay,  but  Susan  stopped  me.  'No,  sir; 
this  is  Leap  Year  an'  we  are  goin'  to  claim  all  the 
privileges  an'  take  the  responsibilities.'  She  paid 
for  the  ticket  like  a  little  man  an'  in  we  went  an' 
jined  in  a  cotillion,  what  they  call  'quadrills'  now- 
adays. Then  she  led  me  to  a  seat,  had  a  talk  with 
Bet,  excused  herself  to  me  an'  put  out. 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS    301 

"I  never  was  much  of  a  hand  to  dance;  my  eddi- 
cation  in  that  line  had  been  awfully  neglected.  So, 
after  Susan  went  I  was  content  to  be  a  male-wall- 
flower until  supper  time.  I  just  sot  ther  and  thunk. 
Bet  came  an'  took  me  into  supper,  an'  you  bet  I 
didn't  throw  off  on  that.  Then  I  went  down  to 
Tobe  Luney's  place  an'  turned  in. 

"I  didn't  sleep — not  much.  I  kept  thinkin'  an' 
couldn't  sleep.  Gals  were  powerful  scarce  in  that 
part  of  Calif orny,  an'  though  I  had  never  thought 
about  gettin'  married  before,  yet  if  Susan  wanted 
me,  I  was  as  willin'  as  that  feller  Barkis  was,  as  I 
onct  read  about  in  a  book.  I  had  mor'n  two  thou- 
sand in  dust  salted  down,  an'  both  claims  were 
payin'.  I  just  made  up  my  mind  that  if  as  pretty 
a  gal  as  Susan  was,  wanted  to  get  with  me  I'd 
marry  her,  sure.  Then  I  went  to  sleep. 

"I  slept  till  pretty  late  in  the  mornin',  though  I 
gen'rally  am  a  powerful  early  riser.  Toby  had  et 
breakfast  an'  gone,  so  I  pikes  over  to  the  hotel 
where  I  had  left  my  ducky  the  night  before.  The 
landlord  told  me  she  was  just  eatin'  breakfast  an' 
when  I  went  to  jine  her  there  she  sat  alongside  of 
that  miserable  Thompson.  Well,  I  didn't  have 
much  appetite,  so  when  they  got  through,  I  was, 
too,  an'  follered  'em  into  the  settin'  room. 

"Thompson  went  out  an'  left  us  thar.     I  didn't 


3O2  THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 

know  exactly  how  to  begin,  so  I  says :  'Hope  you 
feel  rested  this  mornin',  Miss  Bradley/ 

"Toluble,"  she  says. 

"About  what  we  was  to  talk  of — " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Smith,"  she  says.  "I  hope  you  don't 
consider  what  I  said  last  night  anyways  bindin'  on 
you." 

"And  why  not?"  says  I. 

"Cos  I  didn't,  an'  got  married  last  night." 

"Hee,  hee,  hee !"  says  the  tall  prospector.  "That 
young  fellow  had  his  license  aforehand  and  was  all 
ready." 

"License  be  .  We  warn't  civilized  enough 

then  to  get  licenses,  or  have  many  divorces.  No, 
sir-ee.  Git  your  gal  if  she  was  willin'  afore  the 
Squire,  an'  you  was  all  right.  The  Squire  didn't 
stop  to  ask  you  many  questions  if  he  thought  the 
fee  would  be  all  right,  but  I  tell  you  it  kinder  took 
me  down." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  Susan,  that  you've  been 
playin'  Jo  an'  me  both  to  have  us  get  you  here  for 
that  Thompson?" 

"That's  about  it.  You  know  I  told  you  last 
night  that  this  was  Leap  Year  an'  we  were  goin'  to 
take  all  the  privileges.  I  think  I've  took  about  all. 
Don't  you?" 

"I  felt  so  doggone  mad  that  I  left  her  without 


THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS     303 

saying  good-bye,  got  my  two  bosses  an'  streaked 
for  home. 

"Jo  an'  I  got  good  friends  again  quick  as  I  told 
him  we  were  in  the  same  boat.  Misery  loves  com- 
pany, you  know.  We  didn't  either  have  much  luck 
after  that  venture.  Coon  Point  gin  out  all  of  a 
sudden  an'  we  got  into  a  lawsuit  about  water  for  the 
upper  claim,  an'  we  had  to  sell  the  water  to  pay  the 
lawyers.  I'm  pikin'  around  here  now,  havin'  et 
up  my  two  thousand  dollars,  an'  when  I  think  of 
poor  Thompson  an'  the  ten  children  that  might 
have  been  mine,  I  feel  tolable  glad  that  Susan 
didn't  carry  out  any  such  match  with  me. 

"I  never  seed  the  gal  but  onct  afterwards. 
Thompson  an'  her  went  up  to  Hawk  Holler,  an' 
lived  like  two  turtle  doves.  Old  Me  was  goin'  to 
break  my  head  for  the  share  I  took  in  it  for  a  long 
time  an'  bein'  a  peaceable  man,  I  kept  out  of  his 
way.  Fin'ly  we  got  together  an'  I  told  how  the 
gal  played  Jo  an'  I,  an'  it  tickled  him  so  that  he 
insisted  on  settin'  up  the  drinks — me  to  pay  for 
'em — at  onct.  So  I  got  to  goin'  there  again,  an' 
playin'  euchre  as  before.  An'  one  day  when  I  was 
there,  Susan  came,  brought  with  her  one  of  the 
prettiest  gal  babies  I  ever  saw,  an'  they  made  it  all 
up.  I  felt  kinder  sheepish,  but  she  watched  her 
chance  an'  said  to  me :  'You  really  must  forgive 


304     THE  STORY  HE  TOLD  THE  PROSPECTORS 

me,  Mr.  Smith,  but  I  was  awfully  put  on  here,  an' 
that  was  the  only  way  I  could  see  out  of  it.'  Of 
course  she  was  furguv,  but  when  I  hear  an'  read 
about  the  new  woman,  I  wonder  if  she'll  play  a 
feller  any  better  nor  that  young  old  un  did,  mor'n 
thirty  years  ago. 


, 


